HIS  GREAT 
ADVENTURE 

ROBERT   HERRIGK 


'. 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   -    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


;SHE  DREW  UP  A  FEW  RODS  FROM  THE  CENTER  OF  ACTIVITY 
AND  STOOD  THERE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 


BY 


ROBERT  HERRICK 

AUTHOR  OF  "TOGETHER,"  "ONE  WOMAN'S  LIFE 
"THE  COMMON  LOT,"  ETC. 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE 


Ncfo  gorfe 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1913  , 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT.  1912, 
BY  THE  FRANK  A.   MUNSEY  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1913, 
BY  THE   M  ACM  ILL  AN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  September,  1913. 


FERH1S    PRINTING    COMPANY 
NEW  YORK,    N.   Y.,   U.   S.   A. 


PS 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 


268800 


PART   I 
FORTUNE 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 


IT  was  dusk  of  an  April  day,  and  Fifth  Avenue 
was  crowded.  A  young  man,  who  had  emerged 
from  a  large  hotel,  stood  in  the  stream  of  traffic 
and  gazed  irresolutely  up  and  down  the  thorough 
fare.  He  wore  a  long,  cheap  rain-coat,  and  his 
head  was  covered  by  a  steamer-cap  of  an  old 
design,  with  two  flaps  tied  in  a  knot  across  the 
top,  behind  which  an  overabundant  crop  of  dull 
black  hair  pushed  forth. 

His  thin,  sallow  face  was  unshaven,  and  his 
eyes  were  rimmed  by  round  steel  spectacles  that 
gave  him  an  almost  owlish  expression.  An  air 
of  dejection  hung  about  him,  as  he  loitered  by  the 
curb  —  not  the  imaginative  depression  of  youth, 
soon  to  float  off  like  a  cloud  before  the  sun  of  life, 
but  rather  the  settled  gloom  of  repeated  failure, 
as  if  the  conviction  of  final  doom  had  already 
begun  to  penetrate  deeply  into  his  manhood. 

He  looked  first  up  the  avenue,  then  down, 
vacant  of  purpose,  seeing  nothing  in  the  moving 

pageant.     Finally,  as  if  aroused  by  certain  curious 

3 


4  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

glances  that  the  less  hurried  passers-by  cast  on 
him,  he  bestirred  himself  and  moved  on  down  the 
avenue,  his  shoulders  stooped,  his  legs  trailing 
wearily. 

Thus  he  proceeded  for  several  blocks,  never 
raising  his  head,  stopping  mechanically  at  the 
street  crossings,  resuming  his  discouraged  pace 
as  the  crowd  moved  on.  Once  he  plunged  his 
hand  into  his  coat  pocket,  to  assure  himself  of 
some  possession,  and  then  withdrew  it  with  a 
bitter  smile  for  his  unconscious  anxiety. 

When  in  this  vacant  promenade  he  had  reached 
the  lower  part  of  the  avenue,  where  the  crowd 
was  less  dense,  and  less  gay  and  rich  in  appearance, 
he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  musingly  into  the 
misty  space  before  him. 

"  Well,"  he  muttered,  with  tightening  lips, 
"  it's  only  one  more  throw-down.  I  ought  to 
be  used  to  'em  by  now! " 

Nevertheless,  his  face  relapsed  into  its  melan 
choly  expression  as  he  turned  into  one  of  the  side 
streets  with  the  unconscious  precision  of  the 
animal  following  a  beaten  path  to  its  hole. 

He  crossed  several  of  the  shabbier  commercial 
avenues,  which  were  crowded  with  traffic  and 
blocked  by  men  and  women  returning  from  the 
day's  work.  Compared  with  these  tired  laborers, 
he  seemed  to  have  a  large  leisure  —  the  freedom 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  5 

of  absolute  poverty.  His  thoughts  had  turned 
to  supper.  Should  he  buy  a  roll  and  a  piece  of 
pie  at  the  bakery  on  the  next  corner,  or  —  mad 
venture !  —  dissipate  his  last  resources  at  the 
saloon  opposite,  where  the  Italian  wife  of  the 
Irish  proprietor  offered  appetizing  nourishment 
for  a  quarter  ? 

Meditating  upon  this  important  decision,  the 
young  man  entered  his  own  block.  At  one  end 
the  elevated  trains  rattled ;  at  the  other,  heavy 
drays  lumbered  past  in  an  unbroken  file  on  their 
way  to  the  ferries;  but  between  the  two  there 
was  a  strip  of  quiet,  where  the  dingy  old  houses 
were  withdrawn  from  the  street,  and  in  front  of 
them  a  few  dusty  shrubs  struggled  for  life  in  the 
bare  plots  of  earth. 

In  the  middle  of  this  block  there  was  an  un 
usually  animated  scene.  A  group  of  children  had 
huddled  together  about  some  object  of  interest. 
A  horse  must  have  fallen  on  the  pavement,  the 
young  man  thought  dully,  or  there  was  a  fight, 
or  a  policeman  had  made  a  capture. 

He  hurried  his  lagging  steps,  moved  by  a 
boyish  curiosity.  As  he  drew  nearer,  he  perceived 
that  the  circle  was  too  small  to  contain  a  horse 
or  a  good  scrap.  The  center  of  interest  must 
be  some  unfortunate  human  being.  He  shouldered 
his  way  through  the  crowd. 


6  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"What's  up  ?"  he  asked  of  a  small  boy. 

"A  drunk,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

Looking  over  the  heads  of  the  boys,  the  young 
man  could  see  the  figure  of  a  stoutish,  well-dressed 
man  lying  prone  on  the  pavement.  His  black 
coat  was  spattered  with  mud,  his  gray  hair 
rumpled.  His  eyes  were  closed,  and  through  the 
open  lips  his  tongue  protruded. 

"Say,  he's  bad  !"  the  boy  observed  knowingly. 
"Just  look  at  him!" 

A  convulsion  shook  the  prostrate  figure.  The 
face  began  to  twitch,  and  one  arm  waved  violently, 
beating  the  air.  One  or  two  more  mature 
passers-by  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  dis 
turbance  drew  off,  with  the  selfish  city  excuse  that 
the  proper  authorities  would  come  in  time  and 
attend  to  the  nuisance.  Not  so  the  idle  young 
man. 

"He  isn't  drunk!"  he  exclaimed,  pushing  his 
way  into  the  circle  and  stooping  over  the  figure. 
He  had  seen  too  many  plain  "  drunks "  in  his 
newspaper  days  to  be  deceived  in  the  symptoms. 

"There  he  goes  again  !"  the  boys  shouted. 

"He  has  some  sort  of  fit.  Here,  one  of  you 
give  me  a  hand,  and  we'll  get  him  off  the  street ! " 

The  boys  readily  helped  the  young  man  to  drag 
the  prostrate  figure  to  the  nearest  steps,  and  one 
of  them  ran  to  the  corner  after  a  policeman. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  7 

When  the  officer  arrived,  the  young  man,  who  had 
steadied  the  stranger  through  another  convulsion, 
said : 

"You'll  have  to  call  an  ambulance.  We'd 
better  carry  him  somewhere  —  can't  let  him  lie 
here  in  the  street  like  a  dog.  We  can  take  him 
to  my  room." 

He  motioned  toward  the  next  house,  and  with 
the  officer's  assistance  carried  the  sick  man  into 
the  rear  room  on  the  first  floor,  which  he  un 
locked.  Then  the  policeman  drove  the  curious 
boys  out  of  the  house  and  went  off  to  summon  the 
ambulance.  Left  alone,  the  young  man  dipped 
a  towel  in  his  water-pitcher,  wet  the  sick  man's 
brow,  then  wiped  his  face  and  cleaned  the  foam 
and  dirt  from  his  beard  and  lips. 

The  stranger,  lying  with  half-closed  eyes,  looked 
to  be  rather  more  than  sixty  years  of  age.  Judg 
ing  from  the  quality  of  his  clothes,  and  from  his 
smooth  hands,  he  was  a  well-to-do  business  man. 
Presently  his  eyelids  began  to  twitch,  then  the 
whole  face;  the  right  leg  shot  out  and  beat  the 
air ;  then  the  right  arm  began  to  wave,  and  foam 
oozed  from  his  lips. 

"I  wish  they'd  hurry  that  ambulance !"  the 
young  man  thought,  as  he  wiped  the  sick  man's 
face  again  with  the  damp  towel.  "He  won't 
last  long,  at  this  rate  !" 


8  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

This  convulsion  gradually  passed  off  as  the 
others  had,  and  the  stranger  lay  once  more  as  if 
dead,  his  eyes  almost  wholly  closed.  The  young 
man  went  to  the  door  and  listened  nervously, 
then  returned  to  the  prostrate  form,  unbuttoned 
the  coat,  and  felt  for  the  heart.  Immediately 
the  sick  man  opened  his  eyes,  and,  looking  directly 
into  the  eyes  of  the  man  bending  over  him,  tried 
to  raise  his  hand,  as  if  he  would  protect  himself 
from  a  blow. 

"It's  all  right!"  the  young  man  said  reassur 
ingly.  "I  was  just  feeling  for  your  heart,  friend." 

The  sick  man's  lips  twitched  desperately; 
and  finally,  in  the  faintest  whisper,  he  managed 
to  stammer : 

"Wh- who  are  you?" 

"One  Edgar  Brainard,"  the  young  man  re 
plied  promptly.  "Let  me  unfasten  this  vest  and 
make  you  more  comfortable." 

"N-n-no  !"  the  sick  man  gasped  suspiciously. 

He  managed  to  clutch  Brainard's  wrist  with  his 
wavering  right  hand ;  his  left  lay  quite  powerless  by 
his  side.  His  eyes  closed  again,  but  the  lips  moved 
silently,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  frame  sounds. 

"He's  going  this  time,  sure!" 

The  young  man  slipped  his  wrist  from  the 
feeble  grasp,  inserted  a  pillow  under  the  sick 
man's  head,  and  sat  back  to  wait. 


II 

IT  was  very  still  in  that  back  room.  No  step 
sounded  in  the  hall,  and  the  noise  from  the  street 
came  muffled.  In  the  stillness,  the  sick  man's 
desperate  efforts  to  breathe  filled  the  little  room 
with  painful  sounds.  Brainard  felt  the  stifling 
approach  of  death,  and  opened  the  window  wide 
to  get  what  air  would  come  in  from  the  small  court 
outside. 

He  studied  the  figure  on  the  lounge  more  closely. 
The  thick,  red  under  lip  curled  over  the  roots  of 
the  gray  beard.  A  short,  thick  nose  gave  the 
face  a  look  of  strong  will,  even  of  obstinacy. 
There  was  a  foreign  expression  to  the  features 
that  might  indicate  German  descent. 

On  the  third  finger  of  his  right  hand,  the  sick 
man  wore  an  old,  plain  gold  ring,  which  had  sunk 
deep  into  the  flesh.  From  the  inside  pocket  of 
his  short  coat  bulged  a  thick  wallet,  over  which 
his  right  hand  rested,  as  if  to  guard  precious 
possessions. 

"He  thought  I  was  going  to  rob  him !"  Brain 
ard  observed.  "Expect  he's  been  up  against  it 
already  —  and  that's  what's  the  trouble." 

9 


10  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

It  was  quite  dark.  The  young  man  lighted  a 
gas-jet,  then  went  again  to  the  door.  As  he  stood 
there,  listening,  he  felt  the  old  man's  eyes  on  him, 
and  turned  to  look  at  him.  The  eyes,  now  wide 
open,  held  him,  asking  what  the  lips  refused  to  utter. 

Brainard  went  back  to  his  patient  and  leaned 
over  to  catch  the  flutter  from  the  moving  lips. 
At  last,  as  if  with  great  exertion,  the  murmur 
came : 

"Wh-wh-what  are  you  go-going  to  do  —  to  do 
-  with  me?" 

In  spite  of  the  faintness  of  the  whisper,  it  was 
the  voice  of  one  accustomed  to  being  answered. 

"I've  sent  an  officer  for  an  ambulance," 
Brainard  replied.  "It  ought  to  be  here  before 
now,  I  should  think.  They'll  take  you  to  some 
hospital  and  fix  you  up,"  he  added  encouragingly. 

The  lips  twitched  into  a  semblance  of  a  smile, 
then  mumbled : 

"No  —  not  —  th-this  time." 

"What's  the  matter  —  accident?"  Brainard 
asked. 

The  sick  man  did  not  attempt  to  reply,  as  if  he 
considered  the  question  of  trifling  importance. 
Instead,  his  eyes  studied  the  young  man's  face 
intently.  Evidently  his  brain  was  clearing  from 
the  shock,  whatever  had  caused  it,  and  he  was 
revolving  some  purpose.  Soon  the  lips  began  to 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  11 

move  once  more,  and  Brainard  bent  close  to  catch 
the  faint  sounds. 

"  Wh-wh- what's  your  bus-bus-i-ness  ?" 

"Oh,  I've  had  lots  of  businesses,"  the  young 
man  replied  carelessly.  "Been  on  a  newspaper, 
in  the  ad  business,  real  estate,  and  so  on."  He 
added  after  a  moment,  with  a  little  ironical  laugh, 
"Just  now  I'm  in  the  literary  business  —  a 
dramatist." 

The  sick  man  looked  puzzled,  and  frowned,  as 
if  disappointed.  Perhaps  his  cloudy  brain  could 
not  assort  this  information  with  his  purpose. 
Presently  his  brow  contracted,  his  face  twitched 
violently,  the  right  leg  shot  out. 

"I  say!  It's  too  bad,"  the  young  man  ex 
claimed  sympathetically.  "I  wish  I  knew  what 
to  do  for  you.  Where  can  that  ambulance  be?" 
He  laid  one  hand  on  the  sick  man's  hot  brow,  and 
held  his  arm  with  the  other.  "Easy  now!"  he 
exclaimed,  as  the  right  arm  began  whirling. 
"There!  Steady!  It's  going  off." 

Instead  of  closing  his  eyes,  as  he  had  done  after 
the  previous  attacks,  and  relapsing  into  coma,  the 
sick  man  made  an  immediate  effort  to  speak. 

"Co-come  here,"  he  articulated  faintly.  "Im- 
por-tant,  very  impor-tant." 

He  groped  feebly  for  his  inner  pocket. 

"You    want  me   to   take    out  this  bundle?" 


12  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Brainard  asked,  laying  his  hand  on  the  bulky 
wallet. 

The  man  made  an  affirmative  sign,  and  kept  his 
eyes  steadily  on  Brainard  while  the  latter  gently 
extracted  the  pocketbook. 

"You  —  you  will  do  something  for  me?"  the 
stranger  said  more  distinctly  than  he  had  hitherto 
spoken,  as  if  urgency  were  clearing  his  mind. 
"You  can  —  you  can  start  to-night  ?" 

"I'm  not  very  busy,"  the  young  man  said,  with 
a  laugh.  "I  guess  I  could  start  for  Hong-Kong  on 
a  few  minutes'  notice." 

"Not  Hong-Kong,"  the  old  man  labored  forth 
literally.  "  You're  honest  ?  " 

It  was  said  in  a  tone  of  self-conviction  rather 
than  of  question. 

"Oh,  I  guess  so,"  the  young  man  answered 
lightly.  "At  least,  what's  called  honest  —  never 
had  a  chance  to  steal  anything  worth  taking!" 
He  added  more  seriously,  to  quiet  the  sick  man, 
who  seemed  to  be  laboring  under  excitement, 
"Tell  me  what  you  want  done,  and  I'll  do  my  best 
to  put  it  through  for  you." 

The  sick  man's  eyes  expressed  relief,  and  then 
his  brow  contracted,  as  if  he  were  summoning  all 
his  powers  in  a  final  effort  to  make  a  clogged  brain 
do  his  urgent  will. 

"Lis-lis-listen,"     he     murmured.     "No  —  no, 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  13 

write  —  write  it  down,"  he  went  on,  as  Brainard 
leaned  forward. 

Brainard  looked  about  his  bare  room  for  paper, 
but  in  vain.  He  felt  in  his  pockets  for  a  stray 
envelope,  then  drew  from  his  overcoat  a  roll  of 
manuscript.  He  glanced  at  it  dubiously  for  a 
moment,  then  tore  off  the  last  sheet,  which  had 
on  one  side  a  few  lines  of  typewriting.  With  a 
gesture  of  indifference,  he  turned  to  the  sick  man 
and  prepared  to  take  his  message. 

"All  ready,"  he  remarked.  "I  can  take  it  in 
shorthand,  if  you  want." 

"Sev-en,  thir-ty-one,  and  four.  Sev-en,  thir-ty- 
one,  and  four.  Sev-en,  thir-ty-one,  and  four,"  he 
repeated  almost  briskly. 

Brainard  looked  at  him  inquiringly,  and  the 
stranger  whispered  the  explanation : 

"  Combi-na-tion  pri-vate  safe  —  understand  ?" 

Brainard  nodded. 

"Where?" 

"Office  —  San  Francisco." 

The  young  man  whistled. 

"That's  a  good  ways  off  !  What  do  you  want 
me  to  do  there  ?" 

"Take  everything" 

"What  shall  I  do  with  the  stuff?  Bring  it 
here  to  New  York?"  the  young  man  inquired, 
with  growing  curiosity. 


14  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

The  sick  man's  blue  eyes  stared  at  him  steadily, 
with  a  look  of  full  intelligence. 

"I  shall  be  dead  then,"  he  mumbled. 

"Oh,  I  hope  not !"  Brainard  remarked. 

But  with  unflinching  eyes,  the  sick  man  con 
tinued  : 

"You  must  have  —  pow-er  —  pow-er  of 
attorney." 

He  brought  the  words  out  with  difficulty,  not 
wasting  his  strength  by  discussing  his  chances  of 
recovery.  He  was  evidently  growing  weaker,  and 
Brainard  had  to  bend  close  to  his  lips  in  order  to 
catch  the  faint  whisper,  "Take  it  down  !" 

And  with  his  face  beginning  to  twitch,  and  the 
convulsive  tremors  running  over  his  body,  the 
sick  man  summoned  all  his  will  and  managed  to 
dictate  a  power  of  attorney  in  legal  terms,  as  if  he 
were  familiar  with  the  formula.  When  he  had 
finished,  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  lips  remained  open. 
Brainard  dropped  his  paper  and  felt  for  the  sick 
man's  heart.  It  was  still  beating  faintly. 

After  a  few  moments,  the  eyes  opened  mistily, 
and  again  the  man  made  an  effort  to  collect  himself 
for  another  effort. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  the  stuff?"  Brainard 
inquired. 

"Ge-get  it  out  of  the  country.  Take  it  to  —  to 
Ber-Ber-Ber— " 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  15 

"Bermuda?"  Brainard  suggested. 

"'Berlin!99  the  sick  man  corrected  with  a  frown. 
As  if  to  impress  his  messenger  with  the  seriousness 
of  his  work,  he  added,  "If  you  don't  get  away, 
they'll  —  kill  you." 

"Oh  !"  Brainard  exclaimed,  impressed. 

The  blue  eyes  examined  the  young  man  steadily, 
as  if  they  would  test  his  metal.  Then,  satisfied, 
the  man  murmured : 

"  Quick  —  must  —  sign  —  quick  !  Now  ! "  he 
concluded,  as  his  face  began  to  twitch. 

Brainard  handed  him  a  pen,  and  held  his  right 
arm  to  steady  him  while  he  scrawled  his  name  — 
"H.  Krutzmacht."  The  sick  man  traced  the 
letters  slowly,  patiently,  persisting  until  he  had 
dashed  a  heavy  line  across  the  t's  and  another  be 
neath  the  name;  then  he  dropped  the  pen  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

When  another  moment  of  control  came  to  him, 
he  whispered  uneasily : 

"Witness  ?     Must  have  witness." 

"We'll  find  some  one  —  don't  worry,"  the  young 
man  replied  lightly.  "The  ambulance  man,  when 
he  comes,  if  he  ever  does  come !" 

Brainard  did  not  yet  take  very  seriously  the 
idea  of  starting  that  night  for  San  Francisco  to 
rifle  a  safe. 

"Mo-mo-money,"   the   voice   began,    and   the 


16  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

eyes  wandered  to  the  fat  wallet  which  Brainard 
had  deposited  on  the  table. 

Brainard  lifted  the  wallet. 

"Plen-plen-plenty  of  mon-money  !" 

"I  understand,"  the  young  man  replied. 
"There's  enough  cash  for  the  journey  in 
here." 

As  he  laid  the  wallet  down,  there  was  the  wel 
come  sound  of  feet  in  the  passage  outside,  and 
with  an  exclamation  of  relief  the  young  man  flung 
open  the  door.  The  ambulance  surgeon  was  there 
with  an  assistant  and  a  stretcher.  With  a  mut 
tered  explanation  for  his  delay,  the  doctor  went 
at  once  to  the  sick  man  and  examined  him,  while 
Brainard  told  what  he  knew  of  his  strange 
guest. 

"Tries  to  talk  all  the  time  —  must  be  something 
on  his  mind  !"  he  said,  as  another  convulsion  seized 
the  sick  man.  "Been  doped,  I  should  say." 

"Looks  like  brain  trouble,  sure,"  the  ambulance 
surgeon  remarked,  watching  the  stranger  closely. 
"He  can't  last  long  that  way.  Well,  we'd  better 
hustle  him  to  the  hospital  as  soon  as  we  can." 

They  had  the  sick  man  on  the  stretcher  before 
he  had  opened  his  eyes  from  his  last  attack.  As 
they  lifted  him,  he  mumbled  excitedly,  and  Brain 
ard,  listening  close  to  his  lips,  thought  he  under 
stood  what  was  troubling  him. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  17 

"He  wants  that  paper  witnessed,"  he  ex 
plained.  "I  forgot  —  it's  something  he  dictated 
to  me." 

"Well,  hurry  up  about  it,"  the  surgeon  re 
plied  carelessly,  willing  to  humor  the  sick  man. 
"Here!" 

Brainard  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink-bottle  and 
handed  it  to  the  surgeon,  who  lightly  dashed  down 
his  signature  at  the  bottom  of  the  sheet,  without 
reading  it. 

"Now  are  we  ready?"  the  doctor  demanded 
impatiently. 

But  the  blue  eyes  arrested  Brainard,  and  the 
young  man,  stooping  over  the  stretcher,  caught  a 
faint  whisper : 

"  You'll  g-g-go?" 

"Sure!" 

"Gi-gi-give  it  all  to  —" 

Krutzmacht  struggled  hard  to  pronounce  a 
name,  but  he  could  not  utter  the  word. 

"It's  no  use!"  the  doctor  exclaimed.  "Tell 
him  to  wait  until  he's  better." 

But  Brainard,  moved  by  the  sick  man's  intense 
look  of  mental  distress,  raised  his  hand  to  the 
doctor  and  listened.  At  last  the  whispered  syllable 
reached  his  ear : 

"M-M-Mel—" 

"I  tell  you  it's  no  use  !"  the  ambulance  doctor 


18  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

repeated  irritably.  "They'll  find  out  at  the  hos 
pital  what  he  wants  done.  Come  on  ! " 

As  they  bore  the  stretcher  through  the  narrow 
door,  the  agonized  expression  gave  way,  and  the 
sick  man  articulated  more  distinctly : 

"Me!-Melo  —  " 

"Melo-melodrama !"  Brainard  said.  "It's 
all  right,  my  friend.  Don't  worry  —  I'll  fix  it  up 
for  you  !" 

With  astonishing  distinctness  came  back  the 
one  word : 

"Melody!" 

"All  right  — Melody!" 

The  sick  man  would  have  said  more,  but  the 
ambulance  men  bore  him  swiftly  to  the  waiting 
vehicle  and  shoved  him  in. 

"Will  you  come  along?"  the  doctor  asked. 

"No.  I'll  look  in  some  time  to-morrow,  prob 
ably  —  St.  Joseph's,  isn't  it  ?" 

The  sick  man's  eyes  still  rested  on  Brainard, 
when  the  latter  poked  his  head  into  the  dark  am 
bulance.  They  seemed  to  glow  with  a  full  in 
telligence,  and  also  with  a  command,  as  if  they 
said : 

"Do  just  what  I've  told  you  to  do  !" 

"He  knows  what  he  wants,  even  if  he  can't  say 
it,"  Brainard  muttered  to  himself  as  the  ambulance 
moved  off.  "Poor  old  boy  !" 


Ill 

WHEN  Brainard  opened  the  door  of  his  room,  he 
heard  the  rustle  of  papers  on  the  floor,  blown  about 
by  the  draft  from  the  window.  He  lighted  his 
lamp  and  picked  up  the  loose  sheets,  which  were 
the  typewritten  leaves  of  his  last  play  —  the  one 
that  he  had  finally  got  back  that  very  afternoon 
from  a  famous  actor-manager,  without  even  the 
usual  note  of  polite  regret  from  the  secretary. 
The  absence  of  that  familiar  note  had  dejected 
him  especially. 

He  shoved  the  rejected  play  into  his  table 
drawer  indifferently,  thinking  of  the  sick  man's 
last  urgent  look,  and  of  the  terrible  effort  he  had 
made  to  articulate  his  final  words.  What  did  he 
mean  by  "Melody"  ?  Perhaps  the  old  fellow  was 
really  out  of  his  head,  and  all  the  rest  about  his 
valuable  papers  in  some  private  safe  at  the  other 
end  of  the  continent  was  mythical  —  the  fancy  of 
an  unhinged  mind. 

But  the  memory  of  the  old  man's  face  —  of 
those  keen  blue  eyes  —  made  Brainard  reject 
such  a  commonplace  solution  of  the  puzzle.  The 

19 


20  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

sick  man  had  been  in  this  room  with  him  for  a  full 
half -hour,  and  the  place  still  seemed  filled  with  his 
positive,  commanding  personality. 

No!  The  man  who  signed  "H.  Krutzmacht" 
to  the  sheet  lying  on  the  table  before  him  was  no 
vague  lunatic.  Though  he  might  be  at  the  ex 
tremity  of  life,  almost  unable  to  articulate,  never 
theless  his  purpose  was  clear  to  himself,  and  his  will 
was  as  strong  as  ever. 

Brainard  was  hungry.  Snatching  up  his  old 
cap,  he  went  out  to  the  neighboring  avenue,  and, 
without  hesitation,  entered  the  most  expensive 
restaurant  in  sight  —  a  resort  he  frequented  only 
on  rare  days  of  opulence.  Instead  of  the  oyster- 
stew  and  doughnuts  which  had  latterly  been  his 
luxurious  limit,  he  ordered  a  good  dinner,  as  if  he 
had  earned  it,  and  devoured  the  food  without  the 
usual  qualms  of  prudence. 

His  spirits  had  undergone  a  marvelous  change 
from  the  timid,  fearful  state  in  which  he  had  been 
that  afternoon.  He  wondered  at  his  own  con 
fidence.  Complacently  selecting  a  good  cigar 
at  the  cashier's  desk,  he  strolled  back  to  his  room, 
his  body  peacefully  engaged  in  the  unaccustomed 
task  of  digesting  a  full  meal. 

When  he  entered  his  dreary  little  room,  his  eye 
fell  upon  the  wallet,  which  lay  under  the  table 
where  he  had  dropped  it.  What  was  he  going  to 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  21 

do  with  that  —  with  this  whole  Krutzmacht 
business  ?  Why,  simply  nothing  at  all.  In  the 
morning,  he  would  go  around  to  St.  Joseph's  and 
see  how  the  sick  man  was.  If  Krutzmacht  re 
covered,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  return  his 
pocketbook.  But  if  he  got  worse,  or  was  dead 
already  ?  Well,  Brainard  could  turn  the  wallet 
over  to  the  hospital  people  or  the  coroner,  and 
that  would  end  the  affair  for  him. 

With  this  prudent  resolution  he  took  his  play 
from  the  drawer,  and  looked  it  over.  His  interest 
in  the  thing  had  quite  gone,  and  the  sting  of  its 
rejection  no  longer  smarted.  Very  likely  it  was 
as  bad  as  the  managers  to  whom  he  had  submitted 
it  seemed  to  think.  He  tied  the  manuscript  to 
gether  with  a  piece  of  twine,  and  shoved  it  back 
into  the  drawer. 

One  sheet  —  that  last  one  on  which  he  had  taken 
down  Krutzmacht's  dictation  —  was  missing  from 
this  roll.  That  sheet  contained  his  final  curtain. 
He  looked  at  the  lines,  and  smiled  as  he  read. 
The  Lady  Violet  was  parting  from  her  lover,  with 
the  following  dialogue : 

VIOLET.  —  Oh,  Alexander  ! 

ALEXANDER.  —  Violet ! 

VIOLET.  —  What  will  you  do,  dearest  ? 

ALEXANDER.  — I  go  on  my  great  adventure  ! 

VIOLET.  — Your  great  adventure  ? 

ALEXANDER.  — Life ! 


22  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

He  turned  the  sheet  over.  On  the  other  side 
were  the  few  shorthand  notes  he  had  hastily 
jotted  down  —  the  figures  of  the  safe  combination 
and  the  power  of  attorney  with  its  legal  phrases, 
the  latter  written  out  again  below  in  long  hand. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  sheet,  just  beneath  Alex 
ander's  heroic  announcement  to  Violet,  were  the 
three  signatures  The  old  man's  blunt  name 
dominated  the  others  —  a  firm,  black  scrawl 
with  a  couple  of  vicious  dashes. 

The  powerful  will  of  the  sick  man,  working  in 
what  might  be  the  agony  of  death,  spoke  in  that 
signature.  Brainard  felt  that  there  was  something 
mysterious  in  it.  The  name  spoke  to  him  as  the 
eyes  had  spoken  to  him,  personally.  Criminal  ? 
Possibly.  Dramatic  ?  Oh,  surely !  He  felt  in 
stinctively  that  there  was  more  drama  on  this  side 
of  the  sheet  than  on  the  other. 

He  folded  the  paper  carefully  and  put  it  in  his 
inner  pocket.  It  would  be  an  interesting  souvenir. 

As  the  young  man  sat  and  smoked  in  his  little 
room,  the  comfort  of  his  abundant  meal  penetrat 
ing  his  person,  he  felt  more  and  more  the  drama  of 
actual  life  touching  him,  calling  to  him  to  take  a 
hand  in  it.  He  reached  unconsciously  for  the  fat 
wallet,  and  opened  it.  There  were  some  legal 
papers  —  contracts  and  leases  and  agreements,  at 
which  Brainard  merely  glanced. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  23 

He  felt  into  the  inner  recesses  of  the  old-fash 
ioned  wallet,  and  from  one  pocket  extracted  a 
thick  sheaf  of  bank-notes.  They  were  in  large 
denominations  —  hundreds,  fifties,  and  twenties. 
Brainard  smoothed  out  the  bills  on  his  knee  and 
carefully  counted  them;  in  all  there  was  rather 
more  than  four  thousand  dollars. 

"The  old  boy  traveled  with  quite  a  wad  !"  he 
muttered,  fingering  the  crisp  bills. 

The  touch  of  the  money  gave  a  curious  electric 
thrill  to  his  thoughts.  .  Here  was  an  evidence  of 
reality  that  made  the  old  man's  mumbled  words 
and  intense  effort  assume  a  reasonable  shape. 
When  Krutzmacht  let  Brainard  take  possession  of 
this  wallet,  he  knew  what  it  contained.  He 
trusted  to  a  stranger  in  his  desperate  need. 

Still  feeling  around  in  the  folds  of  the  wallet, 
Brainard  extracted  a  railroad-ticket  of  voluminous 
length  for  San  Francisco. 

"He  was  on  his  way  to  the  train!"  Brainard 
exclaimed,  and  added  unconsciously,  "when  they 
got  him  and  did  him  up!" 

Already  his  busy  mind  had  accepted  the  hypoth 
esis  of  enemies  and  foul  play  rather  than  that  of 
disease. 

With  the  railroad-ticket  and  the  money  in  his 
hand,  he  stood  staring  before  him,  still  debating 
the  matter.  Something  seemed  to  rise  within 


24  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

him,  some  determination  —  a  spirit  of  daring 
which  he  had  not  felt  for  years. 

Mechanically  he  put  the  papers  and  bank-notes 
back  into  the  wallet,  and  shoved  it  into  his  pocket. 
Then  he  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  nearly  ten 
o'clock.  If  he  was  to  leave  to-night,  as  the  old 
man  had  ordered,  there  was  no  more  time  to  lose. 

Without  further  hesitation,  he  threw  a  few 
articles  into  an  old  bag  and  started  for  the  ferry. 
On  the  way  he  stopped  to  telephone  the  hospital. 
After  a  delay  which  made  him  impatient,  he 
learned  that  the  sick  man  was  resting  quietly  — 
"still  unconscious,"  the  nurse  said.  So  he  had 
not  spoken  again. 

When  Brainard  reached  the  station  in  Jersey 
City,  having  a  few  moments  to  spare,  he  wrote 
a  brief  note  to  the  hospital  authorities,  saying 
that  he  was  leaving  the  city  on  business,  and  would 
call  on  his  return  in  a  week  or  ten  days.  He  in 
closed  several  bank-notes,  requesting  that  the  sick 
man  should  have  every  comfort.  Having  dropped 
his  letter  into  the  box  he  stepped  into  the  Chicago 
sleeper.  The  exhilarating  beat  of  his  heart  told 
him  that  he  had  done  well. 

The  disdainful  look  that  the  porter  had  given 
him  when  he  took  charge  of  his  shabby  bag,  as 
well  as  the  curious  glances  of  his  fellow  passengers, 
the  next  morning,  made  Brainard  conscious  of  his 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  25 

eccentric  appearance.  But  all  that  he  could  do, 
for  the  present,  to  improve  his  neglected  person, 
was  to  have  himself  shaved  and  his  hair  cut.  He 
was  obliged  to  keep  his  rain-coat  on,  although  the 
car  was  hot,  in  order  to  cover  up  a  large  hole  in  his 
trousers  —  the  only  pair  he  possessed. 

He  resolved  to  employ  the  few  hours  in  Chicago, 
between  trains,  in  making  himself  as  decent  as 
possible.  Meanwhile  he  ate  three  good  meals 
and  furtively  watched  his  more  prosperous  fellow 
travelers. 


IV 

IT  was  a  very  different  person,  in  appearance, 
who  seated  himself  on  the  observation  platform 
of  the  Overland  Limited  that  evening.  Only 
the  round  steel  spectacles  were  left  as  a  memento 
of  Brainard's  former  condition.  He  had  had  no 
scruples  in  helping  himself  freely  from  the  store  of 
bills  in  the  wallet.  What  lay  before  him  to  do  for 
the  sick  man  would  probably  be  difficult,  in  any 
event,  and  it  would  be  foolish  to  handicap  himself 
by  presenting  a  suspicious  appearance  at  Krutz- 
macht's  office.  He  would  play  his  part  properly 
dressed. 

So,  when  he  glanced  into  the  little  mirror  beside 
his  berth,  he  smiled  in  satisfaction  at  the  clean 
shaven,  neatly  dressed,  alert  young  man  who 
looked  back  at  him.  With  his  ragged  habiliments 
he  seemed  also  to  have  discarded  that  settled  look 
of  failure,  and  not  a  few  of  his  years.  Without 
unduly  flattering  himself,  he  felt  that  he  might 
easily  be  taken  for  one  of  the  energetic  young 
brokers  or  lawyers  whom  he  observed  on  the  train. 

Removing  his  new  hat,  and  stretching  his  well- 
shod  feet  on  the  cushioned  seat  opposite,  he  took 

26 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  27 

up  the  evening  newspapers  and  glanced  through 
them  for  some  telegraphic  item  about  the  fate  of 
his  mysterious  employer.  If  Krutzmacht  were  a 
well-known  figure,  as  he  supposed  likely,  reporters 
must  doubtless  have  discovered  him  before  this 
and  proclaimed  his  predicament  to  the  world. 
But  Brainard  could  find  no  reference  to  any  such 
person  in  the  newspapers,  and  with  a  sigh  of  relief 
he  let  them  slip  from  his  lap. 

His  task  would  be  easier,  if  it  could  be  accom 
plished  while  the  sick  man  lay  undiscovered  in  the 
hospital.  If  he  should  already  be  dead,  when  he 
arrived,  there  would  be  an  end  to  Brainard's  job 
altogether ;  and  that  would  have  been  a  keen  dis 
appointment  to  the  young  man. 

His  job  ?  A  hundred  times  his  mind  reverted 
to  this  perplexing  consideration  —  what,  exactly, 
was  he  to  do  when  he  had  reached  the  end  of  his 
long  journey  ? 

First,  he  would  find  where  Krutzmacht's  offices 
were,  and  then  ?  He  had  been  told  to  make  off 
with  whatever  he  might  find  in  the  private  safe. 
For  this  purpose  he  had  provided  himself,  in  Chi 
cago,  with  a  bulky  leather  valise,  in  which  his  dis 
carded  raiment  was  now  reposing.  It  all  sounded 
like  an  expedition  in  high  piracy,  but  he  quieted 
any  scruples  with  the  resolve  that  he  would  make 
off  merely  to  New  York,  if  Krutzmacht  still  lived, 


28  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

instead  of  Berlin,  and  remain  there  to  await  further 
developments. 

So,  as  the  Overland  Limited  rushed  across  the 
prairie  states,  Brainard  took  counsel  with  himself, 
mentally  sketching  out  his  every  move  from  the 
moment  when  he  should  step  from  the  train.  The 
readiness  with  which  his  mind  reached  out  to  this 
new  situation  surprised  himself;  he  was  already 
becoming  in  some  way  a  new  person. 

The  journey  itself  was  a  revelation  to  him  and 
an  education.  With  his  Broadway  prejudice  that 
the  United  States  stopped  somewhere  just  above 
the  Bronx  and  behind  the  Jersey  hills,  he  was 
astonished  to  find  so  much  habitable  country  be 
yond  these  horizons  and  so  many  people  in  it  who 
did  not  seem  to  depend  upon  New  York  City  for 
their  livelihood  or  happiness.  At  first  he  was  so 
much  preoccupied  with  his  errand  and  himself  in 
his  surprising  new  role  that  he  paid  little  attention 
to  the  scenes  spread  before  his  eyes.  Chicago  im 
pressed  him  only  as  a  dirtier  and  more  provincial 
New  York.  But  the  next  morning  when  he  awoke 
at  Omaha  he  began  to  realize  that  America  was 
more  than  a  strip  of  land  along  the  Atlantic  sea 
board,  and  by  the  time  the  train  had  left  Ogden 
his  respect  for  his  fatherland  had  immensely 
increased. 

He  noticed  also  that  the  character  of  the  people 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  29 

on  the  train  was  gradually  changing.  Large, 
rough-looking  men,  with  tanned  faces  not  too 
carefully  shaved,  and  sometimes  with  a  queer 
assortment  of  jewelry  and  patent  leather  shoes 
took  the  places  of  the  pallid,  smooth  shaven  busi 
ness  men  that  had  been  his  companions  from 
Jersey  City  to  Chicago.  There  were  also  a  number 
of  women  traveling  alone,  large,  competent,  and 
not  overrefined.  Brainard,  whose  ideas  of  Amer 
icans  other  than  the  types  to  be  seen  on  the  streets 
of  New  York  had  been  drawn  from  the  travestied 
figures  of  the  stage,  —  the  miner  and  the  cowboy 
with  flapping  sombrero  and  chaps,  —  watched  these 
new  specimens  of  his  fellow  countrymen  with  keen 
interest.  In  spite  of  their  rather  uncouth  speech 
and  their  familiarity  with  the  negro  porters,  they 
were  attractive.  They  had  a  vigorous  air  about 
them,  indicating  that  they  came  from  a  big  coun 
try,  with  big  ways  of  doing  things  in  it,  and  a 
broad  outlook  over  wide  horizons.  The  would-be 
dramatist  began  to  perceive  that  the  world  was 
not  peopled  wholly  by  the  types  that  the  Amer 
ican  stage  had  made  familiar  to  him. 

A  little  way  beyond  Ogden  the  train  rolled  out 
into  the  bright  blue  inland  sea  of  the  Great  Salt 
Lake  and  trundled  on  for  mile  after  mile  in  the 
midst  of  the  water  on  a  narrow  strip  of  rocky 
roadbed.  Brainard  had  read  in  the  newspapers 


30  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

of  this  famous  "Lucin  cut-off"  where  in  an  effort  to 
save  a  detour  of  a  few  miles  around  the  shore  of 
the  lake  millions  of  tons  of  "fill"  had  been  dumped 
into  an  apparently  bottomless  hole.  The  pluck  and 
the  energy  of  that  road  builder  who  had  conceived 
this  work  and  kept  at  it  month  after  month, 
dumping  trainloads  of  rock  into  a  great  lake  had 
not  specially  thrilled  him  when  he  read  of  it.  But 
now  the  imagination  and  the  courage  of  the  little 
man  who  did  this  sort  of  thing  thrilled  him.  Har- 
riman,  the  bold  doer  of  this  and  greater  things, 
was  of  course  a  popular  Wall  Street  hero  to  the 
New  Yorker,  —  one  of  those  legendary  creatures 
who  were  supposed  to  have  their  seat  of  power  in 
the  lofty  cliffs  of  that  narrow  Via  Dolorosa  and 
somehow  like  the  alchemists  of  old  conjure  great 
fortunes  out  of  air,  with  the  aid  of  the  "tape." 
That  was  the  way  in  which  this  young  man  had 
always  thought  of  Harriman,  -  "the  wizard  of 
railroad  finance." 

But  now  as  he  glided  smoothly  over  the  solid 
roadbed  that  ran  straight  westward  into  the  remote 
distance,  with  the  salt  waves  almost  lapping  the 
tracks  and  leaving  a  white  crust  from  their  spume, 
with  lofty  mountains  looming  to  south  and  to 
north,  —  as  he  stood  on  the  rear  platform  of  the 
heavy  steel  train  observing  this  marvelous  pano 
rama,  —  a  totally  new  conception  of  the  renowned 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  31 

financier  came  to  him.  This  was  not  done  by 
watching  the  tape  !  It  demanded  will  and  force 
and  imagination  and  faith  —  spiritual  qualities 
in  a  man  —  to  do  this.  The  young  traveler 
mentally  did  homage  to  the  character  that  had 
created  the  wonderful  highway  over  which  for  a 
day  arid  a  half  he  had  been  comfortably  borne  in 
luxurious  ease. 

As  he  watched  the  blue  mountains  about  Ogden 
fade  into  the  haze,  it  seemed  that  New  York, 
his  life  there,  and  all  his  conventional  conceptions 
of  the  little  world  in  which  he  had  vainly  struggled 
for  existence  also  receded  and  grew  smaller,  less 
real.  The  train  in  its  westward  flight  was  bear 
ing  him  forward  into  a  new  world,  within  as  well 
as  without !  As  the  track  began  to  wind  up  again 
to  higher  levels  before  taking  its  next  great  leap 
over  the  Sierras,  Brainard  went  forward  to  the 
smoking  room,  his  usual  post  of  observation,  where 
he  sat  through  long,  meditative  hours,  listening 
to  the  talk  about  him  and  gazing  at  the  fleeting 
landscape.  Whatever  else  it  might  mean,  — 
this  jaunt  across  the  continent  on  a  stranger's 
errand,  —  it  was  bringing  him  a  rich  cargo  of 
new  ideas. 

Of  all  his  fellow  travelers  the  man  who  hap 
pened  to  occupy  the  drawing-room  in  the  car 
where  Brainard  had  his  section  aroused  his  curi- 


32  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

osity  especially.  He  was  one  of  those  well-dressed, 
alert  young  business  men  who  had  made  Brainard 
conscious  of  his  shabby  and  inappropriate  appear 
ance  when  he  first  started  on  his  journey.  The 
door  of  his  room  had  been  closed  all  the  way  to 
Chicago,  and  Brainard  had  seen  nothing  of  the 
man.  But  since  the  train  left  Omaha  the  door 
to  the  drawing-room  had  been  open,  and  from  his 
section  Brainard  observed  its  occupant  diligently 
reading  a  book.  What  aroused  his  attention 
and  interested  him  in  the  stranger  more  than  his 
pleasant  appearance  of  frank  good  humor  had 
been  the  sort  of  book  he  had  chosen  for  this 
long  journey.  It  was  bound  like  a  "best  seller" 
in  a  gaudy  red  cloth,  and  a  picture  of  a  starry- 
eyed  maiden  with  floating  hair  adorned  the  cover. 
But  it  was  labeled  in  unmistakable  black  letters 
Paradise  Lost.  Brainard,  who  had  made  a 
painful  and  superficial  acquaintance  in  his  youth 
with  this  poetic  masterpiece,  decided  that  the 
smartly  dressed  young  American  could  not  be 
devoting  the  journey  to  Milton's  epic.  It  must 
be  that  some  writer  of  best  sellers  had  cribbed 
the  great  poet's  title  and  fitted  it  to  a  less  strenu 
ous  tale  of  love  and  starry-eyed  maidens.  This 
theory,  however,  broke  down  before  the  fact 
that  from  time  to  time  the  young  man  consulted 
a  small  black  book  that  was  indubitably  a  die- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  33 

tionary,  and  Brainard  taking  advantage  of  a 
moment  when  the  traveler  had  left  his  room  as 
sured  himself  that  the  book  was  really  a  copy  of 
Milton's  poem  set  within  profane  modern  covers. 
Just  why  this  young  man  should  spend  his  hours 
on  the  train  reading  the  puritan  epic  of  heaven 
and  hell  puzzled  Brainard  and  whetted  his  curi 
osity  to  know  what  sort  of  man  the  stranger 
was. 

Earlier  this  morning  as  the  train  was  climbing 
down  from  the  Rockies  into  Utah,  an  opportunity 
had  come  to  speak  to  his  fellow  traveler.  The 
train  had  pulled  up  somewhere  before  a  desolate 
station  whose  architect  had  tried  to  make  a 
Queen  Anne  cottage  that  looked  singularly  out 
of  place  in  the  bare,  wild  landscape.  While  the 
engine  took  its  long  drink,  the  passengers  stretched 
their  legs  and  enjoyed  the  crisp  mountain  air. 
The  stranger  came  to  the  vestibule,  yawned,  and 
read  the  name  of  the  station : 

"Palisade,  is  it  ?  ...  The  last  time  I  was 
over  this  way  it  looked  more  lively  than  this." 

"What  was  happening?"  Brainard  inquired. 

"There  was  a  bunch  of  miners  somewheres  in 
Utah  making  trouble,  on  a  strike.  The  company 
had  brought  in  a  couple  of  carloads  of  greasers, 
and  the  miners  were  down  here  shooting  up  the 
party." 


34  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

He  got  down  to  the  ground,  yawned  again, 
and  opened  a  gold  cigarette  case  which  he  offered 
to  Brainard,  —  "Have  one  ?" 

Brainard  took  one  of  the  monogrammed  cigar 
ettes,  and  they  sauntered  together  in  the  sun 
light. 

"Yes,  sir,"  his  new  acquaintance  continued, 
"they  sure  did  have  a  lively  time.  The  greasers 
were  over  there  on  the  siding  in  their  cars,  and 
they  just  let  go  at  'em  with  their  guns.  Now 
and  then  they'd  hit  the  station,  for  fun,  you  know. 
I  guess  maybe  you  can  see  the  holes  yet." 

The  young  man  pointed  up  at  some  scars  among 
the  shingles  and  a  broken  window  in  the  upper 
story.  "Sure  enough  they  left  their  marks  !" 

"What  did  they  do  to  'em?"  Brainard  asked 
na'fvely,  as  they  returned  to  the  car  when  the 
conductor  droned  "  all  aboard." 

"Who?"  the  stranger  asked.     "The  police?" 

He  waved  a  hand  at  the  desolate  stretch  of 
sage  brush  backed  by  grim  mountains  and  laughed. 
As  the  train  moved  off,  he  added,  "Lord,  I 
don't  know  !  They  were  still  popping  when  my 
train  pulled  out.  There  weren't  many  greasers 
fit  to  work  in  the  mines.  What  was  left  after 
the  reception  must  have  walked  home  —  a  long 
ways." 

Brainard   was   somewhat   impressed   with   the 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  35 

possibilities  of  a  country  that  could  offer  such  a 
scrap,  en  passant,  so  to  speak.  The  stranger  in 
vited  him  into  his  room  and  gave  him  another 
cigarette. 

"From  New  York?"  he  inquired.  "Not  a 
bad  sort  of  place,"  he  observed  tolerantly.  "Ever 
been  on  the  Coast  ?  You've  something  to  see." 

"How  is  San  Francisco  since  the  earthquake  ?" 
Brainard  inquired,  thinking  to  come  cautiously 
and  guardedly  to  the  topic  of  Krutzmacht. 

"It's  all  there  and  more  than  ever,"  the  stranger 
cheerily  responded.  "You  won't  find  any  large 
cracks,"  he  jested. 

"It's  queer  that  you  all  went  straight  back  to 
the  same  ground  and  built  over  again." 

"Why?  It  was  home,  wasn't  it?  Folks  al 
ways  have  a  feeling  for  the  place  they've  lived  in, 
even  if  it  has  disadvantages.  It's  only  human  !" 

Brainard  reflected  that  this  was  a  sentimental 
point  of  view  he  should  hardly  have  expected 
from  the  practical  sort  of  man  opposite  him.  In 
the  course  of  their  conversation  Brainard  inquired 
about  the  graft  prosecution  then  in  full  swing, 
which  had  attracted  the  notice  even  of  eastern 
papers  on  account  of  the  highly  melodramatic 
flavor  that  a  picturesque  prosecuting  attorney 
had  given  to  the  proceedings.  The  man  from  San 
Francisco  readily  gave  his  point  of  view,  which 


36  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

was  unfavorable  to  the  virtuous  citizens  engaged 
in  the  task  of  civic  purification.  When  Brainard 
asked  about  the  celebrated  prosecuting  attorney, 
the  stranger  looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  sus 
piciously,  and  said  coldly : 

"Well,  as  that  gentleman  has  just  been  parading 
up  and  down  the  state  saying  he  was  going  to 
put  me  in  state  prison  for  the  better  part  of  my 
remaining  years,  I  can't  say  I  have  a  high  opinion 
of  him." 

"Indeed!"  Brainard  emitted  feebly.  The 
stranger  was  more  mysterious  than  ever.  He 
did  not  seem  in  the  least  like  a  candidate  for  state 
prison. 

"You  see,"  the  young  man  continued  cheer 
fully,  "I'm  loose  now  on  about  seventy-five  thou 
sand  dollars  of  bonds.  Time  was  up  in  fact  day 
before  yesterday,  and  I've  been  wondering  some 
what  they  are  going  to  do  to  my  bondsmen. 
Well,  we'll  find  out  at  Ogden  when  we  get  the 
coast  papers." 

And  when  they  reached  Ogden  Brainard  ven 
tured  to  inquire,  seeing  his  new  acquaintance  deep 
in  the  folds  of  a  San  Francisco  newspaper,  — 
"Well,  what  did  they  do  to  those  bondsmen?" 

"Nothing  yet,  so  far  as  I  can  see.  Oh,  hell, 
it's  all  bluff  anyway  !"  and  he  dropped  his  news 
paper  out  of  the  open  window.  .  .  . 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  37 

A  man  of  such  cheerful  and  frank  presence, 
who  read  Paradise  Lost  (with  the  aid  of  a  dic 
tionary)  and  traveled  to  New  York  on  seventy- 
five  thousand  dollars  of  bail  bonds  was  a  curios 
ity  to  Brainard.  He  very  much  wished  to  ask 
him  a  few  impertinent  questions  in  order  to  satisfy 
his  curiosity,  but  could  not  summon  sufficient 
courage,  though  he  felt  sure  that  the  agreeable 
stranger  would  cheerfully  enlighten  him. 


As  Brainard  entered  the  smoking  compartment 
of  the  "club  car,"  he  observed  that  his  in 
teresting  fellow  traveler  was  in  close  conversation 
with  a  new  arrival,  who  had  taken  the  section 
opposite  Brainard  at  Ogden.  He  had  already 
noted  this  grizzled,  thickset  person,  about  sixty 
years  old,  who  wore  a  black  frock  coat,  had  a  large 
seal  ring  and  a  massive  Masonic  charm.  When 
the  newcomer  opened  his  grip  to  extract  a  black 
skull  cap,  he  had  seen  that  the  remaining  contents 
of  the  bag  were  a  mass  of  papers,  a  few  bits 
of  loose  rock,  and  a  bottle  of  whisky.  What 
ever  toilet  articles  the  traveler  carried  were  care 
fully  concealed. 

Already  the  oldish,  grizzled  traveler  with  the 
skull  cap  was  at  home,  the  center  of  a  little  group 
of  men  at  one  of  the  card  tables,  —  a  bottle  of 
beer  in  front  of  him,  a  cigar  tilted  at  an  angle 
between  his  teeth.  He  was  conversing  with 
that  perfect  naturalness  and  freedom  that  Brainard 
had  observed  .was  the  custom  in  this  large  country, 
even  among  complete  strangers. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  was  saying,  "I  came  back  from 
38 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  39 

Alaska  in  1907  broke,  —  that  is,  what  you  might 
call  broke,  —  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars  all 
I  had  in  the  world.  I  said  to  my  wife,  'I'm  done 
with  mines  !  For  good.  I've  spent  the  better 
part  of  thirty  years  chasing  gold,  and  there  may 
be  money  to  be  got  out  of  the  ground,  but  it 
ain't  for  me.'  And  would  you  believe  it  ?  The 
next  morning  I  was  starting  for  Union  !  Met  a 
man  I  knew  at  the  hotel  in  Seattle  and  he  showed 
me  some  samples  of  the  ore  they  were  taking  out 
there.  And  I  started.  The  old  woman  too. 
Been  there  ever  since!"  He  paused  as  if  to  let 
the  others  say  "Kismet !"  and  repeated,  -  "Been 
there  ever  since,  working  the  next  claim.  My 
wife  died  six  months  ago,  and  I  got  lonely  and 
thought  I'd  come  out  and  see  what  had  happened 
to  Frisco  since  the  quake." 

From  this  point  the  talk  drifted  on  erratically 
as  the  train  rushed  towards  the  Sierras.  The 
agreeable  young  man  who  read  Paradise  Lost 
and  was  under  bonds  to  justice  seemed  to  have  an 
extensive  acquaintance  in  common  with  the  griz 
zled  miner.  They  discussed  some  Scotchman 
who  had  been  mining  but  now  owned  an  oil  well 
in  the  "  Midway  field "  that  was  reputed  to  be 
bringing  in  five  thousand  dollars  a  day.  Another 
of  their  friends  —  an  Englishman  —  had  a  silver 
"proposition"  in  Mexico.  There  was  also  Jimmie 


40  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Birt  who  owned  a  string  of  horses  and  had  sunk 
a  fortune  in  a  mine  in  British  Columbia,  but 
Jimmie,  it  seemed,  was  making  good  in  Oregon 
timber  land.  So  it  went  with  one  adventurer 
after  another,  roaming  this  side  of  the  continent, 
now  penniless,  to-morrow  with  millions,  restlessly 
darting  from  subarctic  Alaska  to  subtropical 
Mexico  along  the  coast  or  the  mountain  spine  of 
the  continent.  They  sought  gold  and  silver  and 
copper,  oil  and  wood  and  cattle,  water-power, 
wheat,  and  wine,  —  it  made  little  odds  what. 
Everything  was  a  "big  proposition"  in  which 
to  make  or  lose.  Brainard  drank  in  the  varied 
biography  of  this  company  of  adventurers,  his 
brain  fired  with  the  excitements  of  their  risks. 
Krutzmacht,  it  seemed  to  him,  must  have  been 
such  a  one  as  these.  He  was  on  the  point  of 
asking  the  old  miner,  who  was  the  principal  talker, 
if  he  had  ever  heard  of  Krutzmacht,  when  his 
ears  caught  the  words : 

"I  see  by  to-day's  San  Francisco  paper  that  a 
receivership  has  been  asked  for  the  Shasta  com 
panies.  That  means  they've  got  Krutzmacht, 
don't  it?" 

"I  expect  so  —  he's  been  on  the  edge  some  time 
from  what  I  hear,"  the  younger  man  replied. 

"So  they  got  him.  .  .  .  il  thought  Herb  would 
make  good  —  he  was  a  nervy  Dutchman,  if  there 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  41 

ever  was  one !  But  he  couldn't  go  up  against 
that  crowd." 

"When  he  began  building  his  road  through  the 
mountains  to  the  Bay,  the  S.  P.  crowd  went  for 
him  and  shut  off  his  credit.  You've  got  to  get 
permission  to  do  some  things  in  California." 

"I'm  told  he'd  built  up  a  big  property." 

"That's  right  — if  he'd  been  able  to  hold  on, 
there  would  have  been  millions,  what  with  the 
power  company,  the  timber,  the  railroad,  and  the 
land.  That's  why  the  S.  P.  people  wanted  it ! 
They  waited,  and  when  the  panic  came  on,  they 
began  squeezing  him.  I  saw  him  in  New  York 
a  few  days  ago.  I  suppose  he  was  trying  to  get 
money  from  some  of  those  big  Jew  bankers  where 
he'd  got  it  before.  But  it  isn't  the  right  time  to 
pass  the  hat  in  Wall  Street  just  now." 

The  talk  ran  on  desultorily  about  "the  S.  P. 
crowd,"  who  it  seemed  were  the  financial  dictators 
of  the  Pacific  Coast  and  "the  nerve  of  the  Dutch 
man  who  went  up  against  that  bunch."  Brainard 
listened  closely  to  every  word,  but  refrained  from 
asking  questions  for  fear  of  betraying  an  undue 
interest  in  Krutzmacht.  As  far  as  he  could  make 
out,  with  his  inexperience  in  business  affairs, 
Krutzmacht's  companies  were  valuable  and  sol 
vent,  but  he  himself  was  embarrassed,  as  many 
men  of  large  enterprises  were  at  this  time,  and  his 


42  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

enemies  had  taken  this  opportune  moment  to  get 
possession  of  his  properties,  using  for  that  pur 
pose  the  courts  of  which  they  seemed  to  have 
control  as  they  had  of  the  legislature  and  the 
governor. 

"It's  a  shame,"  the  younger  stranger  remarked 
frankly;  "I  expect  they'll  put  him  through  the 
mill  and  take  every  dollar  he  owns." 

"They'll  eat  the  hide  off  him  all  right !" 

"Well,  well,"  the  miner  sighed  in  conclusion. 
"So  Herb's  lost  out !  He's  a  nervy  one,  though, 
obstinate  as  a  mule.  Wouldn't  surprise  me  if 
he  crawled  through  somehow.  I  remember  him 
years  ago  when  he  had  a  mine  down  in  Arizona, 
a  big  low-grade  copper  proposition.  That  was 
in  nineteen  four,  no,  —  three.  It  was  another  of 
those  big  schemes,  too  big  for  any  one  man,  - 
a  railroad  and  a  smelter  besides  the  mine.  He 
claimed  there  was  a  fortune  in  it  —  and  I  guess 
it  was  so  —  only  he  was  forced  to  shut  down,  and 
the  next  I  heard  of  him  he  was  out  here  on  the 
Coast  in  this  Shasta  proposition." 

And  that  was  all  they  had  to  say  about  Krutz- 
macht. 


VI 

"Do  you  know  who  that  man  is?"  Brainard 
asked  the  old  miner  as  the  gentleman  under  bonds 
to  return  to  California  strolled  out  of  the  smoking 
room. 

"Why,  that's  Eddie  Hollinger." 

"And  who  is  Mr.  Hollinger  ?" 

"Say,  young  feller,  don't  you  ever  read  the 
papers  where  you  live?  Why,  he's  the  boss  of 
the  prize  ring  business  here  on  the  Coast,  —  the 
*  fight  trust/  as  they  call  it.  Made  lots  of  money. 
Mighty  fine  feller  Ed  is,  too.  He's  having  his 
troubles  these  days  the  same  as  the  rest  of  us. 
They're  trying  him  for  bribery,  you  know." 

After  he  had  delivered  himself  of  an  impas 
sioned  defense  of  the  "business  men  who  were 
being  hounded  by  a  lot  of  hypocrites,"  Brainard 
led  him  back  to  Krutzmacht,  or  as  the  miner 
preferred  to  call  him,  "that  nervy  Dutchman." 
But  beyond  elaborating  the  story  of  his  own  per 
sonal  encounter  with  the  German  a  number  of 
years  before  somewhere  in  Arizona,  the  miner 
could  add  little  to  what  had  already  been  told. 
The  German  was  a  daring  and  adventurous  man, 

43 


44  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

who  had  been  "known  on  the  Coast"  for  thirty 
years  or  more,  —  always  involved  in  some  large 
financial  venture  in  which  he  had  been  backed 
by  capital  from  his  native  land.  "But  it's  up 
and  down  with  all  of  us,"  he  sighed  in  conclu 
sion  and  drifted  on  to  tell  his  own  story.  He 
talked  with  the  volubility  and  hopefulness  of 
youth.  When  he  said  that  he  hadn't  seen  a 
white  man  in  six  months  except  the  dozen  "da 
goes"  working  his  claim,  his  volubility  seemed  to 
Brainard  excusable.  It  was  less  easy  to  explain 
his  hopeful  mood,  for  it  appeared  that  he  had 
knocked  about  the  mountain  states  for  the  better 
part  of  a  lifetime  with  scarcely  more  to  show  for 
his  efforts  than  what  was  contained  in  his  lean 
bag.  But  the  roll  of  blue  prints  of  his  claim,  with 
the  little  bag  of  specimen  ore,  was  in  his  eyes 
a  sure  guarantee  of  fortune. 

"You'd  oughter  see  my  mine,  —  the  Rosy  Lee 
I  call  it  because  that  was  my  wife's  name.  It's 
a  winner  sure !  I'm  expecting  they'll  break  into 
the  vein  every  blast.  May  get  a  wire  in  Frisco 
that  they're  in,  and  then  you  bet  I'll  go  whooping 
back  to  pick  up  the  dollars  !  The  Union,  next 
door  to  me,  so  to  speak,  got  some  ore  that  ran 
forty  thousand  to  the  ton  —  they've  taken  out 
four  millions  already." 

He    rambled    on    about    "shoots,"    "winzes," 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  45 

"slopes,"  "faults,"  and  geological  formation  until 
he  had  thoroughly  fired  the  young  man's  imagina 
tion  with  the  fascinating  lure  of  the  search  for 
"metal."  They  examined  the  specimens  in  the 
old  miner's  bag  and  talked  far  into  the  night 
while  the  train  panted  up  the  steep  grades  and 
the  moonlight  lay  white  on  the  snowdrifts  of  the 
mountains  outside. 

"Come  back  with  me,  young  feller,"  the  miner 
said  in  his  simple,  expansive  manner,  "and  I'll 
show  you  some  life  you've  never  seen !  .  .  . 
It's  kind  of  lonesome  up  there  now  the  old  woman's 
gone.  .  .  .  You'll  make  money." 

"I'd  like  to,"  Brainard  responded  warmly. 
"Nothing  better  !  Perhaps  I  will  some  day,  but 
I  can't  this  trip." 

"Come  soon,"  the  old  fellow  urged,  "or  you'll 
find  me  at  the  Waldorf  in  your  own  town." 

Brainard  lay  awake  in  his  berth  long  afterwards, 
listening  to  the  laboring  locomotives  as  they  pulled 
the  heavy  train  over  the  mountains,  rushed 
through  the  snowsheds,  and  emerged  occasion 
ally  to  give  glimpses  of  steep,  snowy  hillsides. 
The  rarefied  air  of  the  lofty  altitude  had  set 
his  pulses  humming.  So  much  it  seemed  had 
happened  to  him  already  since  he  stepped  aboard 
the  train  in  Jersey  City  that  he  could  hardly 


46  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

realize  himself.  The  "boss  of  the  fight  trust" 
and  the  cheerful  miner  who  had  "lost  the  old 
woman  six  months  back"  and  still  had  faith  after 
a  lifetime  of  disappointments  that  he  would  dig 
a  fortune  from  that  "hole  up  in  them  hills,"  were 
real  experiences  to  the  youn.g  man.  The  simple, 
natural,  human  quality  of  these  strangers  appealed 
to  him.  "It  must  be,  the  west,"  he  generalized 
easily.  "I  suppose  Krutzmacht  is  the  same  sort, 
-large-hearted,  simple,  a  good  gambler."  But 
the  man  who  had  signed  his  name  between  con 
vulsions,  —  H.  KRUTZMACHT,  —  didn't  seem  to 
fit  the  same  genial  frame.  He  was  of  sterner 
stuff.  "Anyway  he's  given  me  one  fine  time  and 
I'll  do  what  I  can  for  him  out  there  !"  It  was 
useless  to  speculate  further  as  to  what  awaited 
him  in  San  Francisco.  It  might  be  that  court 
proceedings  having  already  begun,  the  affair  would 
be  taken  out  of  his  hands  completely.  He  might 
find  a  telegram  from  Krutzmacht  countermanding 
his  orders. 

At  last  he  dropped  to  sleep,  buoyant  and  eager 
for  that  unknown  future  that  lay  before  him,  while 
the  train  having  surmounted  the  last  mountain 
barrier  wound  slowly  down  into  the  green,  fruit- 
covered  valleys  of  California. 


VII 

THE  Overland  was  several  hours  late;  it  was 
nearly  four  o'clock  of  a  foggy  April  afternoon  be 
fore  Brainard  emerged  from  the  ferry  station  with 
his  big  valise  in  his  hand.  His  first  intention 
had  been  to  go  to  a  hotel  and  there  deposit  his 
bag  and  make  inquiries.  The  miner  had  urged 
him  to  accompany  him  to  the  old  "Palace/5 
"They  say  it's  finer  than  ever  since  the  quake." 
But  Brainard,  reflecting  that  it  was  Saturday  after 
noon  and  considering  that  a  few  hours'  delay  might 
mean  the  loss  of  two  days,  shook  hands  with  his 
fellow  travelers  and  turned  to  the  telephone 
booths  to  discover  Krutzmacht's  city  address. 
When  he  had  memorized  the  street  and  number 
he  started  up  Market  Street,  still  carrying  his 
bag.  He  was  astonished  to  see  how  thoroughly 
the  city  had  recovered  from  its  disaster  in  little 
more  than  a  year.  There  were  large  gaps  in  the 
business  blocks,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  a  lively, 
substantial  city  with  a  great  deal  of  building  going 
forward,  especially  in  the  noisy  erection  of  tall 
steel  buildings.  The  very  sight  of  these  ambi 
tious  structures  inspired  courage  ! 

47 


48  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

After  a  short  walk  Brainard  found  himself  at 
the  entrance  of  a  large,  new  building  on  Sutter 
Street  that  corresponded  with  the  number  he  had 
memorized.  He  stood  on  the  curb  for  a  few  mo 
ments  staring  up  at  the  windows.  Now  that  he 
had  reached  his  goal,  a  trace  of  his  former  habit 
of  despondency  came  over  him,  making  him  hesi 
tate  before  the  final  effort,  but  shaking  himself 
free  from  the  old  morbidness  he  walked  briskly 
into  the  building.  When  he  emerged  from  the 
elevator  on  the  top  floor,  the  boy  pointed  down 
the  corridor.  "The  last  one  on  the  right,"  he 
said. 

Brainard  passed  a  number  of  offices  whose 
doors  bore  in  small  black  letters  the  names  of  dif 
ferent  companies,  —  "Pacific  Northern  Railroad," 
"Great  Western  Land  and  Improvement  Com 
pany,"  "The  Shasta  Corporation."  At  the  ex 
treme  end  of  the  corridor  was  a  door  with  the 
simple  lettering,  "Herbert  Krutzmacht."  The 
plain  black  letters  of  the  name  had  something  of 
the  same  potency  that  the  signature  at  the  bottom 
of  the  power  of  attorney  had.  Like  that,  like 
the  sick  man  himself  who  had  painfully  gasped 
out  his  last  orders,  they  were  a  part  of  the  sub 
stantial  realm  of  fact.  So  far,  at  least,  the  dream 
held  !  There  was  a  real  man  named  Krutzmacht, 
engaged  in  important  business  enterprises,  and 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  49 

from  what  Brainard  had  learned  on  the  train  he 
knew  that  there  was  a  crisis  in  his  affairs. 

With  his  hand  on  the  door-handle  he  paused. 
His  heart  beat  fast,  and  he  looked  around  him 
nervously  as  if  expecting  to  see  an  officer  of  the 
court  lurking  somewhere  in  the  corridor.  There 
was  no  one  on  this  floor,  however.  The  quiet 
of  a  late  Saturday  afternoon  had  settled  down  on 
the  busy  building,  but  within  the  private  office 
Brainard  could  hear  the  slow  click  of  a  type 
writer.  He  pushed  open  the  door  and  entered. 

It  was  a  large,  rather  barely  furnished  room, 
evidently  used  as  an  ante-room  to  other  offices. 
Near  the  window  a  young  woman  was  seated  at 
a  desk,  lazily  examining  a  mass  of  papers  and  occa 
sionally  tapping  the  keys  of  a  machine,  with  the 
desultory  air  of  an  employee  killing  time  at  the 
end  of  the  day.  She  was  a  distinctly  good  look 
ing  woman,  Brainard  observed,  although  no  longer 
young,  with  abundant  coarse  black  hair,  fresh 
complexion,  and  decidedly  plump. 

The  stenographer  looked  up  from  her  work  at 
Brainard  with  a  start  as  if  she  had  been  expecting 
some  one,  but  quickly  composed  herself. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  she  asked  with  a  peculiar 
intonation  that  indicated  hostility. 

Brainard  was  at  a  loss  for  a  reply  and  stood 
gaping  at  the  stenographer  foolishly.  He  had 


50  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

not  thought  of  meeting  a  woman.  He  had  known 
few  women,  and  he  lacked  confidence  in  dealing 
with  them. 

"Is  —  is  Mr.  Krutzmacht  in?"  he  stammered 
awkwardly,  and  cursed  himself  for  the  silly  question. 

The  woman  gave  him  a  suspicious  look  and 
answered  shortly : 

"No,  he  ain't." 

"Oh,"  the  young  man  remarked,  looking  about 
the  office.  Near  the  stenographer's  desk  was  a 
door  partly  open,  which  led  into  an  inner  room. 
In  the  farther  corner  of  this  room  could  be  seen 
the  projecting  corner  of  a  steel  safe.  This  Brain- 
ard  felt  must  be  his  goal,  and  he  unconsciously 
stepped  toward  the  door  of  the  inner  office.  The 
woman  rose  as  if  to  bar  his  further  progress  and 
snapped  irritably : 

"What  do  you  want  here  ?" 

"Why,  I  just  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  replied 
as  amiably  as  he  could. 

"Cut  it  short  then,  young  man.  I  haven't 
any  time  to  waste  in  conversazione." 

"You  don't  seem  very  busy!"  Brainard  ob 
served  smiling. 

"I'm  always  busy  to  strangers,  little  one  —  I 
do  my  day-dreaming  outside  of  office  hours." 
She  thrust  the  metal  cover  on  her  machine  with 
a  clatter.  "See?" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  51 

"Oh,  yes,  I  see,"  Brainard  replied  and  again 
tried  to  approach  the  inner  office.  The  stenog 
rapher  confronted  him  alertly  and  folding  her 
arms  demanded : 

"What's  your  game,  anyway,  young  man? 
If  you're  one  of  those  lawyers  — " 

"No,  I'm  no  lawyer,"  Brainard  said  laughing. 
"Guess  again  !" 

"Haven't  the  time.  It's  Saturday  afternoon, 
and  this  office  is  supposed  to  be  closed  at  one 
o'clock." 

"So  it  is  Saturday  —  I'd  almost  forgotten  the 
fact." 

The  stenographer  eyed  him  very  sourly  and 
observed  coldly : 

"Where  do  you  keep  yourself  that  you  don't 
know  the  day  of  the  week  ?  Go  home,  young  man, 
and  think  it  over." 

Brainard  saw  that  in  this  national  game  of 
"josh"  he  could  make  no  progress  against  such 
an  adept  and  came  bluntly  to  the  point : 

"Are  you  in  charge  of  Mr.  Krutzmacht's  office  ?  " 

"What's  that  to  you?" 

"Because  I've  been  sent  here  by  Mr.  Krutz- 
machtto— " 

"Sent  here  by  Mr.  Krutzmacht  —  the  one  you 
were  asking  for  just  now?  .  .  .  Try  something 
else,  sonny." 


52  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Brainard  felt  foolish  and  completely  baffled. 
He  wanted  to  strangle  the  woman  and  throw  her 
out  of  the  window.  But  aside  from  the  fact  that 
she  appeared  to  be  vigorous  and  of  a  fighting  dis 
position  he  realized  that  the  less  disturbance  he 
made  the  greater  chance  he  would  have  of  carry 
ing  through  his  mission  successfully.  It  is  not  clear 
what  the  outcome  between  the  two  would  have 
been,  if  at  that  moment  there  had  not  appeared 
from  the  inner  office  an  elderly  man  whose  mild 
face  had  a  worried  look.  Brainard  noted  the 
man's  near-sighted,  timid  air  and  regained  his  calm. 

"Here's  a  young  feller,  Mr.  Peters,  who  says 
he's  looking  for  Mr.  Krutzmacht,"  the  girl  said. 

"Mr.  Krutzmacht  is  not  in  the  city,"  the  man 
said  nervously. 

"Yes,  I  know  that!"  Brainard  replied  easily. 
"You  see  I  was  sent  here  by  Mr.  Krutzmacht 
himself." 

"You  come  from  Krutzmacht!"  the  man 
gasped  in  excitement,  while  the  woman's  face 
expressed  incredulity.  "Where  is  he?  We've 
been  telegraphing  all  over  the  country  the  last 
week  trying  to  locate  him.  Mr.  Snell  has  just 
gone  east  —  left  this  office  only  an  hour  ago  — 
to  see  if  he  can  find  him." 

Brainard  reflected  that  the  Overland  Limited 
had  probably  served  him  a  good  turn  by  being 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  53 

late ;  for  he  judged  that  the  fewer  persons  he 
had  to  deal  with  in  the  present  emergency  the 
easier  it  would  be  for  him  to  accomplish  his  pur 
poses.  This  mild-mannered,  flustered  clerk  did 
not  look  formidable.  His  tones  gained  confidence. 

"Mr.  Krutzmacht,"  Brainard  explained  glibly, 
"has  met  with  an  accident  —  not  a  serious  one, 
I  hope.  He  is  in  good  hands.  He  has  sent  me 
out  here  to  get  some  papers  that  he  wants  from  his 
safe." 

"But,  but,"  the  bewildered  clerk  stammered, 
"don't  you  know  that  the  court  —  " 

"They've  fixed  up  a  receivership,  I  know," 
Brainard  interrupted,  "that's  the  reason  per 
haps  — " 

"I've  been  expecting  'em  in  here  all  the  after 
noon,"  the  clerk  said  nervously,  looking  at  the 
door.  "Then  there'll  be  the  devil  to  pay  gen 
erally." 

"All  the  better  !"  Brainard  exclaimed.  "Let's 
get  busy  before  they  arrive." 

"But  who  are  you,  anyway?"  the  old  man 
demanded  with  a  sudden  access  of  caution. 

Brainard  merely  smiled  at  the  worried  old  man. 
He  was  more  and  more  at  his  ease,  now  that  he 
knew  the  caliber  of  the  timid  old  clerk,  and  though 
he  felt  the  necessity  of  haste  in  his  operations,  if 
an  officer  of  the  court  was  momentarily  expected 


54  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

to  make  a  descent  upon  Krutzmacht's  private 
office,  yet  he  spoke  and  acted  with  calm. 

"Suppose  we  lock  these  outer  doors  —  if  you 
think  any  one  is  likely  to  interrupt  us  —  and  then 
we  can  proceed  undisturbed." 

He  shot  the  brass  bolt  in  the  door  through  which 
he  had  entered  and  glanced  into  the  inner  office, 
but  apparently  this  one  had  no  exit  upon  the 
corridor.  Meanwhile  the  stenographer  was  whis 
pering  vehemently  to  the  old  clerk,  who  looked 
at  the  intruder  doubtfully  and  seemed  irresolute. 
Brainard  leisurely  pulled  down  the  shade  over 
the  glass  window  in  the  door. 

"There  !"  he  said.     "Now  we  are  ready." 

He  took  the  sheet  that  bore  Krutzmacht's 
signature  from  his  pocket  and  held  it  out  to  Peters. 
"Want  my  credentials?  That's  a  power  of  at 
torney  Mr.  Krutzmacht  dictated  and  signed  just 
before  I  left  him." 

He  waited  for  the  clerk  to  adjust  his  glasses 
and  read  the  hastily  penned  sheet,  thinking 
what  he  should  do  if  by  chance  the  old  man  re 
fused  to  recognize  it.  He  did  not  feel  disturbed. 
The  ride  across  the  continent  had  rested  him 
bodily  and  mentally.  The  good  meals  and  the 
unwonted  luxury  of  eating  and  sleeping  without 
care,  which  had  been  his  daily  companion  for 
all  the  years  he  could  remember,  had  given 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  55 

him  a  fresh  spirit.  He  could  think  quickly  and 
with  precision ;  he  felt  himself  amply  capable,  full 
of  power  to  meet  any  emergency  that  might 
rise  —  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?"  Peters  asked, 
handing  back  the  power  of  attorney.  He  seemed 
somewhat  reassured  by  the  sight  of  his  master's 
signature  at  the  bottom  of  the  scrawl. 

"Mr.  Krutzmacht  wanted  me  to  get  the  stuff 
out  of  his  safe  —  I  suppose  it's  the  one  in  there  ?  " 

"But  — but,"  the  clerk  protested.  "If  the 
court  has  granted  this  injunction,  I  don't  suppose 
I  ought  to— " 

"That's  just  why  you  ought!"  Brainard  in 
terrupted  impatiently.  "Don't  you  see  this  is 
Krutzmacht's  one  chance  of  getting  his  property 
out  of  their  reach  ?  Once  the  court  puts  hands 
on  it,  there  won't  be  much  left  for  the  owner  ! " 

Without  further  delay  he  strode  into  the  inner 
office,  saying  lightly : 

"Krutzmacht  is  keeping  out  of  sight  for  the 
present  —  until  trouble  blows  over,  you  see." 

"The  safe's  locked,"  the  clerk  objected  weakly, 
"and  no  one  here  has  the  combination.  Mr. 
Snell  didn't  leave  it." 

Without  taking  the  trouble  to  reply,  Brainard 
walked  over  to  the  heavy  steel  door  and  began 
twirling  the  knob  as  if  he  had  opened  office  safes 


56  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

all  his  life.  The  clerk  and  the  stenographer 
stared  while  the  little  nickel  wheel  revolved  in 
Brainard's  fingers.  When  finally  the  bolts  shot 
back  and  the  door  swung  open,  Peters  gasped : 

"But  how  will  you  get  all  that  stuff  out  of 
here?" 

"Just  bring  me  that  bag  from  the  other  room, 
will  you  please?"  Brainard  asked  the  stenogra 
pher.  As  she  turned  unwillingly  to  fetch  the  bag, 
there  came  a  loud,  resolute  knock  at  the  door  of 
the  outer  office. 

"There  !"  the  old  clerk  exclaimed. 

The  stenographer  started  for  the  door,  but 
Brainard  with  one  leap  overtook  her,  pushed  her 
back  into  the  inner  room,  and  closed  the  door. 
Again  the  knocking  on  the  outside  door  came,  even 
more  insistently,  and  the  knob  was  rattled  as  if 
the  visitor  was  determined  to  gain  entrance. 
The  three  in  the  inner  office  stood  still  listening, 
not  speaking.  Brainard  noticed  an  angry  red 
flush  spread  over  the  woman's  features.  As  no 
further  knocking  came  after  a  few  moments, 
Brainard  turned  to  the  stenographer  sternly. 

"You  can  sit  at  that  desk,  miss.  I'll  answer 
the  door.  Come  on,  Mr.  Peters,  and  show  me  the 
most  important  things  in  here  —  the  papers 
Krutzmacht's  enemies  would  hate  to  lose.  You 
know  them,  don't  you  ?  " 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  57 

"Some  of  them,"  the  clerk  admitted,  rather 
doubtfully,  his  eyes  running  over  the  close-packed 
shelves  of  the  vault.  "They're  'most  all  valu 
able  in  here,  I  suppose.  The  general  papers  are 
kept  in  the  other  vault  downstairs.  But  the 
most  important  are  in  these  drawers." 

He  pulled  out  several  receptacles  that  seemed 
crammed  with  engraved  certificates  and  legal 
papers. 

"Mr.  Krutzmacht  kept  all  his  personal  papers 
up  here  where  he  could  get  at  them  day  or  night," 
he  explained.  "I  guess  it's  all  valuable  to  some 
one  ! "  he  concluded  hopelessly. 

"I  can't  put  it  all  in  that  bag,"  Brainard  ob 
served,  his  eye  running  over  the  contents  of  the 
well-filled  vault.  "Well,  let's  try  the  drawers 
first  —  the  cream  is  likely  to  be  there." 

He  began  to  pass  out  the  contents  of  the  drawers 
to  the  clerk,  who  shoved  them  hastily  into  the 
large  valise.  But  before  Brainard  had  quite 
finished  the  second  tier  of  drawers,  the  bag  was 
almost  filled  with  crisp,  tightly  packed  bundles 
of  securities  and  legal  papers.  There  remained 
books  and  other  rows  of  documents.  Brainard 
looked  at  some  of  them  impatiently,  trying  to 
decide  what  could  best  be  left  behind.  At  last 
he  exclaimed : 

"It's   no   use   my   trying   to   pick   it   over.     I 


58  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

might  leave  the  best  of  the  lot.  I  must  have 
a  small  trunk.  Can  you  get  me  one,  Peters  ? 
While  you  are  gone  I  will  fetch  it  all  out  here  and 
sort  it  over.  .  .  .  No,  don't  go  out  that  way  !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  the  clerk  started  for  the  outer 
door.  "  Where  does  that  go  ?  "  He  pointed  to  a 
small  door  behind  the  corner  of  the  safe. 

"It's  the  fire  escape,"  Peters  explained  tim- 
idly. 

"Just  the  thing!" 

He  opened  the  door  and  peered  out  into  the 
dark,  inclosed  well  down  which  ran  one  of  the 
modern  circular  fire  escapes. 

Brainard  handed  Peters  a  bill,  and  shoved  him 
toward  the  door.  After  the  clerk  had  gone, 
Brainard  turned  to  his  task,  and  emptied  the 
safe  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  began  to  sort 
the  books  and  papers  and  securities  into  piles 
for  convenient  packing,  stuffing  the  bonds  and 
stocks,  which  he  judged  to  be  the  most  valuable 
part  of  the  loot,  into  his  valise. 

There  had  been  no  movement  by  the  stenog 
rapher  for  some  time,  and  Brainard  had  almost 
forgotten  her  presence.  Suddenly,  while  he  was 
in  the  safe,  he  heard  a  slight  sound  outside,  like 
the  movement  of  a  woman's  dress.  He  jumped  to 
his  feet.  The  stenographer,  with  one  hand  on  the 
desk  telephone,  was  about  to  take  off  the  receiver. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  59 

"Put  that  down!"  Brainard  ordered,  and 
added  more  gently,  "What  are  you  telephoning 
for?" 

"Just  going  to  call  up  a  friend,"  the  woman  re 
plied  pertly,  and  started  to  take  the  receiver  off 
the  hook  again. 

Brainard  cleared  the  intervening  space  in  a 
bound,  and  snatched  the  instrument  from  the 
woman's  hand. 

"You'll  have  to  wait  a  while  to  talk  to  your 
friend!" 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  anyway?"  she 
asked  angrily. 

"You  can  see  —  packing  up  some  papers. 
You  might  give  me  a  hand." 

"Say,"  she  replied  without  moving,  "I  don't 
believe  that  yarn  you  told  old  Peters." 

"Oh,  you  don't?" 

"Not  for  one  minute  !" 

"Well,  what  will  you  do  about  it  ?" 

The  girl  tapped  sullenly  with  her  foot,  without 
replying. 

"Want  to  let  that  friend  of  yours  know  about 
me  ?  "  Brainard  continued  meaningly.  As  the  sten 
ographer  tossed  her  head  and  moved  again  toward 
the  telephone,  he  added,  "Come  over  here  where 
I  can  watch  you  !  Quick  now,  pack  those  bundles 
into  the  bag."  As  she  still  hesitated,  defying 


60  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

him,  he  said  sharply,  "Get  down  on  your  knees 
and  go  to  work !" 

She  whimpered,  but  fell  to  her  knees.  They 
worked  silently  for  several  minutes.  The  vault 
was  stripped  bare.  The  smaller  papers  were 
packed  into  the  bag,  and  the  bulkier  stuff  was 
stacked  on  the  floor,  ready  to  be  thrust  into  another 
receptacle. 

Brainard  glanced  at  his  watch.  Peters  had 
been  gone  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Had 
he  been  detained,  or  had  he  become  suspicious 
and  decided  to  get  advice  before  going  any  far 
ther  ?  Brainard  considered  departing  with  what 
he  had  already  packed  in  his  bag,  which  he  judged 
was  the  more  important  part  of  the  safe's  con 
tents. 

"I  guess  it's  about  time  for  me  to  be  going 
home  now,"  the  stenographer  remarked,  pluck 
ing  up  her  courage.  "I'll  leave  you  and  Mr. 
Peters  to  lock  up." 

"You  want  to  see  that  friend  badly,  don't 
you?"  Brainard  asked.  "Not  quite  yet;  the 
day's  work  is  not  over  yet.  Be  patient !" 

He  did  not  dare  to  trust  her  beyond  his  sight, 
nor  did  he  think  it  wise  to  leave  her  behind  him. 
The  girl  walked  idly  to  the  window,  then  edged 
along  the  wall.  Beside  the  safe  there  was  a 
recess,  from  which  the  rear  door  opened.  When 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  61 

the  stenographer  reached  this,  she  darted  for  the 
door. 

"Good-by!"  she  called.  "I  guess  the  police 
will  take  care  of  you  !" 

The  little  door  fortunately  stuck.  Before  she 
could  open  it,  Brainard  had  dragged  her  back  into 
the  room. 

"You're  just  a  common  second-story  man  !" 
she  cried  angrily. 

"Exactly  !  How  clever  of  you  to  penetrate 
my  disguise !  I'm  a  car-barn  bandit  —  Texas 
Joe  —  anything  you  please !  But  before  you 
skip,  I  want  you  to  look  through  those  drawers 
in  the  vault,  to  see  if  I  have  missed  anything." 

He  shoved  the  surprised  woman  into  the  empty 
vault,  and  swung  the  door.  As  the  bolts  shot 
back  into  place,  a  muffled  cry  escaped  from  within. 
Brainard  called  back : 

"Save  your  breath !  There's  enough  air  in 
there  to  keep  you  alive  for  some  hours ;  and  I'll 
see  that  you  get  out  in  plenty  of  time  to  join  that 
friend  for  dinner.  Just  keep  quiet  and  save  your 
breath!" 

A  sob  answered  him  from  the  vault. 


VIII 

AT  that  moment  a  low,  confidential  knock 
came  on  the  door  of  the  outer  office,  followed  by 
a  discreet  rattling  of  the  knob. 

"There  he  is  at  last !"  thought  Brainard,  with 
a  sense  of  relief. 

He  hurried  to  unbolt  the  door;  but  instead 
of  Peters's  mild  face,  a  chubby,  spectacled  young 
fellow,  wearing  his  derby  hat  pushed  far  back  on 
a  round,  bald  head,  confronted  him. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  Brainard  demanded,  trying  to 
close  the  door. 

The  man  grinned  back : 

"And  who  are  you?" 

He  had  shoved  his  right  leg  into  the  opening, 
and  with  his  question  he  gave  a  powerful  push 
that  almost  knocked  Brainard  from  his  feet. 

"Well?"  he  said,  once  within  the  office,  grin 
ning  more  broadly.  "I'm  Farson  —  Edward, 
Jr.  —  from  the  Despatch.  We  just  had  a  wire 
from  New  York  that  Krutzmacht's  been  found, 
dead!" 

"Dead  !"  Brainard  exclaimed. 

"Had  a  stroke  or  something,  and  died  this, 
62 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  63 

morning  in  a  hospital.  One  of  our  old  men  down 
East  got  on  to  it,  and  tipped  us  the  wire." 

The  intruder  settled  himself  comfortably  on  the 
top  of  the  stenographer's  little  desk,  and  drew 
out  a  cigarette.  Dangling  his  fat  legs,  he  eyed 
Brainard  with  an  amused  stare. 

The  latter  stood  for  the  moment  dumfounded. 
Although  he  had  at  first  looked  for  this  outcome, 
as  the  days  had  gone  by  he  had  come  to  believe 
that  the  old  man  was  recovering.  Now  he  real 
ized  swiftly  that  with  Krutzmacht  dead  his 
power  of  attorney  was  no  better  than  a  piece  of 
blank  paper.  His  position  was  doubly  tenuous. 

"Say!"  The  reporter  interrupted  his  medi 
tation  in  a  burst  of  cynical  confidence.  "The 
old  man  was  a  good  pirate  —  fought  to  the  last 
ditch,  and  then  got  out." 

"What  makes  you  think  he  got  out  ?"  Brainard 
inquired. 

The  reporter  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"They  had  him,  and  he  must  have  known  it. 
That  railroad  crowd  would  have  taken  the  hide 
off  him,  and  put  what  was  left  in  the  penitentiary." 

"Perhaps  they  made  away  with  him,"  Brainard 
suggested  meaningly. 

"You  think  so?  My,  that  would  be  a  fat 
scoop  !  What  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

Brainard    raised    his    eyebrows    mysteriously, 


64  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

and  the  reporter  nimbly  filled  in  a  reasonable 
outline  of  the  story. 

"You  mean  he  got  the  money  down  East  that 
he  needed  to  stop  this  receivership,  and  they 
knew  it,  and  put  him  out  of  the  way,  so  that  he 
shouldn't  interrupt  the  game  ?  " 

"Possibly,"  Brainard  admitted. 

The  reporter  jumped  from  his  seat  briskly. 

"Well,  I  must  get  busy  —  they're  holding  the 
paper  for  me.  Who's  in  charge  here?" 

"I  am,"  Brainard  replied  promptly. 

"And  what's  your  name  ?" 

He  pulled  a  dirty  note  book  from  his  hip- 
pocket. 

"Wilkins,"  Brainard  answered  quickly,  "of 
WTilkins  &  Starbird,  Mr.  Krutzmacht's  New 
York  attorneys." 

The  reporter  looked  at  Brainard  and  whistled, 
but  he  wrote  down  the  name. 

"You  folks  didn't  lose  any  time  in  getting  busy  ! 
I  s'pose  there'll  be  litigation  and  all  that.  Do 
you  expect  to  save  much  from  the  wreck  ?  " 

"That's  what  I  am  here  for  —  to  keep  those 
pirates  from  making  off  with  the  stuff  ! "  His 
eye  fell  upon  his  valise,  and  a  sudden  resolution 
came  to  him.  "See  here,  Farson,"  he  said  con 
fidentially,  laying  a  hand  on  the  reporter's  pudgy 
thigh,  "do  you  see  that  bag  ?  The  Pacific  North- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  65 

ern  that  they're  after  and  the  Shasta  Company 
are  right  inside  that  bag,  together  with  a  lot  of 
other  valuable  property.  I'm  going  to  take  it 
where  those  pirates  can't  lay  a  finger  on  it,  in 
spite  of  all  the  courts  in  California !" 

The  reporter's  eyes  grew  round. 

"You've  got  your  nerve !"  he  said  admiringly. 

"You  see,  time's  money  —  big  money.  So 
I  can't  stay  here  all  night  gassing  with  you. 
There  is  a  train  on  the  Santa  Fe  at  ten,  isn't 
there?" 

"Ten  ten,"  the  reporter  corrected. 

"I  must  make  that  train,  or  — " 

"Lose  the  trick?"  the  reporter  suggested 
affably. 

"I'm  going  to  make  it !" 

"You'll  need  some  help  in  the  get-away,  I 
suppose?" 

"Just  so  !  If  I  make  that  train  all  right  with 
this  stuff,  there'll  be  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars 
for  you,  my  boy ;  and  what's  more,  you  can  have 
the  story  all  to  yourself.  It  will  be  better  than 
the  old  man's  death." 

A  pleasant  smile  circled  around  the  reporter's 
chubby  face. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Wilkins  !  What  do  you  want 
now?" 

"I've    sent    out    for    another    bag,"    Brainard 


156  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

explained.  "I'll  just  pass  the  rest  of  these  papers 
out  to  you,  and  you  can  stack  them  ready  to 
pack  when  the  bag  comes." 

Brainard  opened  the  inner  door  and  listened. 
There  were  faint  sounds  like  sobbing  within  the 
safe. 

"If  she  can  cry,  she'll  last,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Now  for  it !  Where  in  thunder  can  that  fellow 
Peters  be  ?  I  hope  he  hasn't  heard  that  the  old 
man  is  dead  ! " 

He  began  to  shove  the  books  and  papers  through 
the  door,  which  he  kept  nearly  closed,  for  fear 
that  the  reporter  might  detect  the  sounds  that 
came  from  the  safe,  and  ask  questions.  It  was 
dark  now,  but  he  did  not  dare  to  turn  on  the  elec 
tric  lights,  for  the  windows  faced  the  street,  and 
he  feared  men  might  already  be  watching  the  office. 

He  had  transferred  all  the  packages  not  packed, 
and  was  struggling  at  his  heavy  valise,  when  he 
heard  a  voice  behind  him,  and  started. 
fk  "I  guess  you  thought  I  was  never  coming  back," 
Peters  stammered  breathlessly.  He  was  drag 
ging  a  small  trunk  through  the  little  back  door 
behind  the  safe.  "It  nearly  broke  my  back  get 
ting  this  thing  up  those  five  flights  of  stairs." 

"Bring  it  this  way,  Peters  !"  Brainard  shouted 
nervously,  pushing  the  old  man  through  the  door 
into  the  outer  office. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  67 

He  banged  the  door  shut  just  as  a  muffled 
scream  issued  from  the  safe. 

"What's  that?"  Peters  asked,  dropping  the 
trunk  to  the  floor. 

"Somebody  in  the  hall,  I  suppose,"  Brainard 
replied  coolly. 

Fortunately  the  old  man's  attention  was  dis 
tracted  from  the  scream  by  the  sight  of  the  re 
porter.  Farson  had  lighted  another  cigarette, 
and  was  swinging  his  legs  and  smiling  amiably. 

"Didn't  expect  to  see  me,  did  you  ?" 

"Who—" 

"That's  all  right.  Your  friend  here  seems 
to  be  in  a  hurry.  He  asked  me  to  stay  and  help 
in  the  spring  moving." 

"Come,  get  to  work  !"  Brainard  called  out,  on 
his  knees  before  the  trunk.  "  Cigars  and  explana 
tions  afterward  !" 

They  slung  the  books  and  the  packages  of 
papers,  which  the  reporter  had  neatly  arranged, 
into  the  little  trunk.  Then  they  closed  and  locked 
it.  Brainard  unbolted  the  outer  door. 

"I  wouldn't  make  my  exit  by  the  front  door," 
the  reporter  advised.  "I  reckon  you'd  be  spotted 
before  you  got  to  the  street.  There's  a  back 
way,  ain't  there  ?" 

Brainard,  thinking  of  the  woman  in  the  safe, 
hesitated. 


68  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"That's  how  I  brought  up  the  trunk,"  Peters 
said.  "There's  nobody  out  there." 

Brainard  opened  the  door  to  the  inner  office, 
and  listened.  It  was  quite  still.  Probably  the 
woman  had  fainted. 

"Come  on  !"  he  called,  grasping  one  end  of  the 
trunk. 

The  reporter  caught  hold  of  the  other,  and 
Peters  followed,  tugging  at  the  heavy  bag.  As 
they  crossed  the  inner  office,  there  was  not  a 
sound. 

Brainard  hesitated  at  the  door,  thinking  that 
he  must  release  the  girl  before  he  left ;  but  as  he 
stood  before  the  safe,  there  was  a  squeal  from 
within  which  indicated  sufficient  liveliness  on 
the  part  of  the  stenographer.  There  would  be 
time  enough  to  attend  to  her  after  he  had  got  his 
loot  to  the  street.  If  she  were  released  now,  her 
temper  might  prove  to  be  troublesome;  so  he 
joined  the  others  on  the  landing,  closing  the  little 
door  behind  him. 

"The  old  man  used  to  get  out  this  way  some 
times,"  Peters  observed. 

"I  reckon  he  never  will  again,"  the  reporter 
laughed. 

The  hall  opened  on  a  narrow,  circular  iron 
staircase,  without  a  single  light.  Down  this  pit 
Brainard  and  the  reporter  plunged,  tugging  at 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  69 

the  trunk,  which  threatened  to  stick  at  every 
turn.  The  old  man  got  on  more  easily  with  the 
bag,  which  he  merely  allowed  to  slide  after  him. 
Brainard  was  soaked  in  perspiration ;  the  reporter 
puffed  and  swore,  but  he  stuck  manfully  at  his 
job. 

At  last  they  tumbled  out  into  the  dark  alley 
at  the  rear  of  the  building.  After  he  had  caught 
his  breath,  Brainard  inquired  where  he  could 
find  a  cab. 

"If  I  were  you,  young  man,"  the  reporter  re 
plied,  "I  wouldn't  try  being  a  swell.  I'd  take 
the  first  rig  I  could  charter.  There's  one  over 
there  now." 

He  pointed  down  the  alley,  and  waded  off  into 
the  dark.  Presently  he  returned  with  a  plumber's 
wagon. 

"He  says  he'll  land  your  baggage  at  the  ferry 
for  four  bits.  You  can  ride  or  walk  behind,  just 
as  you  like." 

They  loaded  the  trunk  and  the  bag  into  the 
wagon,  and  the  reporter,  perching  himself  beside 
the  driver,  announced  genially : 

"I'll  see  you  aboard!" 

"How  much  time  is  there  left?"  Brainard 
asked. 

"Thirty-two  minutes  —  you  can  do  it  easily 
in  twenty-five." 


70  HIS^GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Wait  a  minute,  then  !" 

Brainard  took  Peters  to  one  side,  and  said  to 
him  in  a  low  voice : 

"You  remember  that  noise  you  heard  up  there 
in  the  office  ?  It  came  from  the  girl  —  the 
stenographer.  She  got  fresh  while  you  were  out, 
and  I  had  to  lock  her  up  in  the  safe  to  keep  her 
quiet.  I  think  there  is  enough  air  to  last  her 
some  time  yet;  but  her  last  squeal  was  rather 
faint.  Suppose  you  run  up  and  let  her  out !" 

Peters,  with  a  scared  look  on  his  face,  made 
one  bound  for  the  stairs. 

"Hold  on,  man!"  Brainard  shouted  after 
him.  "You  don't  know  the  combination.  Here 
it  is!" 

He  searched  in  his  pockets  for  the  slip  of  paper 
on  which  he  had  copied  the  figures,  but  in  the 
dark  he  could  not  find  it. 

"This  ain't  any  automobile,"  the  reporter 
suggested.  "You'd  better  put  off  your  good-bys 
until  the  next  time  !" 

"Try  to  remember  what  I  say,"  Brainard  said 
to  the  frightened  Peters,  and  began  repeating 
the  combination  from  memory.  "I'm  pretty 
sure  that's  right.  Say  it  over!  There,  again!" 

The  shaking  man  repeated  the  figures  three  or 
four  times. 

"  Good !  Keep   saying  it  over   to  yourself  as 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  71 

you   go   upstairs,    and   I'll   telephone   the    office 
from  the  ferry  and  see  if  you've  got  her  out." 

But  Peters  had  already  disappeared  into  the 
darkness  within  the  building.  Brainard  climbed 
into  the  plumber's  wagon,  the  man  whipped  up 
his  horse,  and  they  jolted  out  of  the  alley.  As 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  ferry  building,  the  re 
porter  compared  his  watch  with  the  clock,  and 
remarked : 

"Eight  minutes  to  the  good  —  fast  traveling 
for  a  plumber  !" 

"Just  look  out  for  my  stuff  while  I  telephone  !" 
Brainard  exclaimed. 

All  the  way  to  the  ferry  he  had  been  anxious 
about  the  girl  in  the  safe.  He  had  already  re 
solved  that  if  he  found  Peters  had  failed  to  open 
the  safe,  he  would  go  back  and  run  the  risk  of 
capture. 

When  the  operator  rang    up    the    number    of 
Krutzmacht's  private  office,  there  was  an  agoniz 
ing   wait   before   any   one   answered.     Finally   a 
woman's  voice,  very  faint,  called : 
1    " Who  is  it?" 

Prudence  counseled  Brainard  to  assume  that 
the  voice  was  that  of  the  stenographer,  and  to 
hang  up  the  receiver.  But  he  wished  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  the  woman  herself,  and  so  he 
asked : 


72  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Are  you  feeling  all  right,  miss  ?" 

"You  thief!"  came  hissing  over  the  wire  to 
his  ear.  "You  won't  get — "  And  there  was 
no  more. 

She  had  dropped  the  receiver,  probably  for 
action.  When  Brainard  stepped  from  the  tele 
phone  booth,  he  looked  uneasily  in  the  direction 
of  Market  Street,  as  if  he  expected  to  see  the 
stenographer  flying  through  the  hurrying  crowd. 
The  reporter  beckoned  to  him. 

"Your  trunk  has  gone  aboard  the  ferry.  Here's 
the  check  —  to  Chicago.  I  thought  you'd  rather 
tote  this  bag  yourself,  though  it's  pretty  heavy." 

"Much  obliged  for  all  your  trouble,"  Brainard 
replied  warmly.  "And  now  for  you!" 

He  pulled  his  roll  of  currency  from  his  pocket, 
and  handed  five  hundred-dollar  bills  to  the  reporter. 

"You  earned  it !  I  never  should  have  got 
away  in  time  without  you." 

"I  guess  that's  so.  Much  obliged  for  the 
dough;  but  the  scoop  alone  is  worth  it.  What 
a  story !  A  light-fingered  attorney  from  New 
York  blowing  in  here  under  the  court's  nose  and 
lifting  the  whole  Pacific  Northern,  and  goodness 
knows  what  else  besides,  clean  out  of  the  State  ! 
Some  folks  who  think  they  know  how  to  do  things 
will  be  sick  to-morrow  morning  when  they  get 
the  Despatch!" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  73 

He  shoved  the  bills  into  his  trousers  pocket 
and  pulled  out  another  cigarette. 

"There's  the  gong  !"  he  remarked. 

"Thanks !"  Brainard  said  warmly,  shaking 
the  reporter's  fat  hand.  "I'll  want  to  see  your 
story.  Send  it  to  me  !" 

"And  say,  I'd  make  up  a  better  yarn  than  that 
lawyer  story,  when  you  have  time." 

"So  you  didn't  believe  me  ?" 

"I  guess  I'm  no  cub  reporter!"  the  Despatch 
man  laughed  complacently,  as  the  ferry-boat 
began  to  move  out  of  the  slip. 

Then  he  started  on  a  run  for  the  nearest  tele 
phone  booth. 

"If  that  girl  means  business,  as  I  think  she 
does,  I  shan't  get  as  far  as  Chicago!"  Brainard 
muttered  to  himself,  turning  into  the  cabin  of 
the  ferry-boat. 


IX 

WHEN  Brainard  awoke  the  next  morning  the 
train  was  moving  through  the  Mojave  desert. 
He  lay  for  some  time  in  his  berth  trying  to  collect 
himself  and  realize  all  that  had  brought  him 
thither.  It  was  intensely  hot  in  the  narrow  com 
partment  that  he  had  taken,  and  when  he  raised 
the  window  curtains  the  sunlight  reflected  from 
the  desert  was  blinding.  As  he  drew  down  the 
curtain,  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  large  bag  beside 
him,  and  with  a  start  the  adventure  of  the  pre 
vious  day  came  over  him.  He  laughed  aloud  as 
he  recalled  the  different  scenes  in  Krutzmacht's 
office,  —  the  stenographer's  suspicious  reception, 
the  endless  bumping  down  the  circular  iron  stairs 
with  the  bag  and  the  valise,  old  Peters 's  horrified 
face  when  he  learned  that  the  woman  had  been  shut 
in  the  safe.  Indeed,  the  entire  week  since  he 
ran  across  the  dying  stranger  at  the  door  of  his 
lodging  seemed  like  a  dream,  peopled  with  faces 
and  scenes  that  were  extraordinarily  vivid  and 
of  a  kind  he  had  never  known  in  his  narrow,  sor 
did  life.  With  a  luxurious  sense  of  new  possession 
he  went  over  all  the  little  details  of  his  journey 

74 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  75 

across  the  continent.  The  week,  he  recognized,  had 
been  a  liberal  education  to  his  mentally  starved  self. 

But  what  was  he  going  to  do  now  ? 

Hitherto  he  had  been  carried  along  easily  on  a 
wave  of  events  that  demanded  instant  action, 
and  he  had  not  worried  about  the  future.  Even 
when  the  reporter  had  given  him  the  news  of 
Krutzmacht's  death  in  the  hospital  he  was  already 
too  deep  in  the  affair  to  stop,  although  he  realized 
that  the  crude  power  of  attorney,  which  had  been 
his  sole  legal  protection  in  looting  the  safe,  had 
lost  all  its  force  the  instant  its  maker  ceased  to 
breathe.  After  that,  he  was,  as  the  stenographer 
had  said,  —  merely  a  burglar.  Yet  he  had  not 
hesitated  to  obey  the  dead  man's  will  rather  than 
the  law.  But  now  ? 

Thus  far  he  had  been  executing  Krutzmacht's 
direct  orders,  with  an  unconscious  sense  of  a  living 
personality  guiding  him,  taking  the  real  respon 
sibility  for  his  deeds.  The  stranger  who  had 
been  stricken  near  his  door  had  seized  upon  him 
as  the  nearest  available  tool,  had  imposed  on  him 
his  will,  and  had  sent  him  hurrying  across  the 
continent  on  an  errand  the  full  nature  of  which 
was  even  yet  a  mystery  to  Brainard.  And  he 
had  obeyed  the  dying  stranger  with  a  curious 
faith  in  his  reasonableness,  —  had  responded  to 
him  pliantly  as  to  the  command  of  a  natural 


76  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

master.  But  now  that  this  master  was  dead, 
the  situation  was  altogether  different.  Should 
he  still  attempt  to  execute  his  scarcely  intelligible 
wishes  ? 

He  had  learned  enough  about  Krutzmacht 
these  last  few  days  to  understand  that  the  old 
man  had  been  engaged  in  a  life-and-death  struggle 
for  the  control  of  large  properties,  —  one  of  those 
peculiarly  modern  duels  fought  with  bankers' 
credits  and  court  decrees.  Apparently  his  ene 
mies,  more  powerful  than  he  —  at  least  with 
larger  resources  at  their  command  —  had  been 
closing  in  on  him  for  the  final  grapple,  which 
threatened  utterly  to  ruin  him.  He  had  gone  to 
New  York  to  raise  the  funds  with  which  to  evade 
impending  bankruptcy  and  loss  of  control  of  the 
properties  which  he  had  created.  Brainard  now 
fully  believed  that  Krutzmacht  had  succeeded 
in  this,  and  that  he  had  been  stricken  at  last 
by  the  hand  of  a  hired  thug  and  thrown  on  the 
street  to  die.  But  even  in  the  torture  of  his  final 
convulsions  the  old  man  had  exerted  his  powerful* 
will  to  defeat  these  cowardly  foes,  and  had  lin 
gered  on  in  life  just  long  enough  to  enable  his 
agent  to  snatch  the  prey  from  their  jaws. 

What  now  was  he  to  do  with  this  bag  of  docu 
ments  and  securities  that  lay  there,  its  fat  sides 
bulging  in  proof  of  his  deed  ?  The  obvious  thing 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  77 

would  be  to  seek  the  nearest  federal  authority, 
deposit  his  plunder,  and  allow  an  impartial 
court  to  settle  the  dispute  between  the  dead 
man  and  his  enemies.  A  week  before,  such  a 
timid  and  safe  course  of  conduct  would  have 
seemed  to  Brainard  the  only  possible  action 
to  take.  Now  he  found  it  not  in  the  least 
to  his  taste,  and  dismissed  it  without  further 
consideration.  He  had  become  an  altogether 
different  person,  even  in  this  week,  from  that 
beaten  man  who  had  stumbled  homeward  from 
a  petty  defeat  through  the  New  York  streets  in 
the  gloom  of  an  April  day.  For  this  one  brief 
week  in  all  the  years  he  could  remember  he  had 
been  alive  —  fully  alive  —  and  with  his  hand 
now  in  the  thick  of  this  vital  web  he  was  not  will 
ing  to  withdraw.  The  one  who  had  used  him 
as  a  tool  was  dead,  but  his  strong  will  lived  on  in 
him,  not  yet  fulfilled,  and  to  that  strong  will 
whose  only  hope  of  fulfillment  lay  in  him  —  the 
chance  stranger  —  a  new  sense  of  loyalty  re 
sponded.  He  would  not  desert  the  old  man  in 
the  present  crisis,  no  matter  what  the  merely 
legal  aspects  of  his  situation  were.  Already  the 
stranger's  will  like  fertile  seed  was  germinating 
within  this  fresh  soil. 

"Take  everything,"  Krutzmacht  said.     "Take 
it  all  to  Berlin."     That  he  would  do  if  he  could. 


78  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

But  then  what  ? 

There  was  a  strange  name  —  Mell  or  Melody 
—  that  the  dying  man  had  been  at  such  pains 
to  enunciate.  What  had  Melody  to  do  with  the 
matter  ?  Was  it  the  name  of  a  person  ?  Or  an 
institution  ?  He  exercised  all  his  ingenuity  in 
trying  to  invent  a  reasonable  explanation  of  this 
one  word.  Possibly  Krutzmacht  had  tried  to 
pronounce  Mendel  or  Mendelssohn.  Brainard 
thought  there  was  a  firm  of  German  bankers  with 
some  such  name.  Light  on  the  puzzle  might  be 
found  in  the  contents  of  his  bag,  but  at  present 
he  did  not  like  to  open  it.  At  any  rate  Berlin 
must  be  his  next  destination. 

He  pondered  all  these  things  at  his  late  break 
fast,  where  in  the  close-shaded  car  electric  fans 
buzzed  to  make  a  semblance  of  moving  air.  The 
fellow  travelers  on  this  train  —  returning  tourists 
from  Southern  California  resorts  —  did  not  in 
terest  him  as  had  the  varied  company  on  the 
Overland,  and  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  compart 
ment  with  his  secret,  not  even  leaving  it  for 
luncheon.  It  seemed  that  already  the  cares  of 
property  —  even  of  another,  unknown  person's 
property  —  were  beginning  to  separate  him  from 
his  fellows,  rendering  him  less  eager  to  make  ac 
quaintances,  more  suspicious  than  he  was  by 
nature.  In  the  present  circumstances  he  preferred 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  79 

to  keep  to  himself.  So  all  that  long  day,  alone  in 
his  hot  room,  he  thought,  while  the  train  slowly 
traversed  the  mighty  Arizona  plains,  arid, 
limitless,  austere,  broken  here  and  there  by 
solitary  rocky  peaks  that  rose  majestically  out 
of  the  desert  into  the  still,  clear  atmosphere.  It 
was  a  stranger  land  than  he  had  ever  dreamed, 
outside  all  the  world  that  he  knew,  remote, 
mysterious,  calm. 

He  did  not  open  the  bag  for  fear  of  possible 
interruption.  He  thought,  and  as  the  hot  day 
wore  on  into  the  afternoon  he  began  to  lose  that 
sense  of  security  he  had  had  when  he  caught  the 
train  in  San  Francisco.  The  burden  of  the  bag 
became  heavier.  If  he  were  any  judge  of  news 
paper  men,  that  reporter  Parson  had  by  this  time 
spread  the  story  of  his  deeds  broadcast  over  the 
civilized  world.  Messages  might  be  speeding 
past  him  even  now  on  the  wires,  directions  to 
intercept  his  flight  at  some  convenient  point 
farther  to  the  east.  He  first  planned  to  make  for 
New  Orleans  as  a  port  of  departure  for  Europe, 
having  altogether  abandoned  the  idea  of  returning 
to  New  York,  which  probably  was  the  one  most 
dangerous  spot  for  him  on  the  globe.  Even  New 
Orleans  seemed  a  desperately  long  way  off.  The 
sooner,  he  reasoned,  he  could  put  an  international 
boundary  between  himself  and  Krutzmacht's 


80  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

enemies,  the  better  would  be  his  chance  of  reach 
ing  Berlin  with  his  plunder. 

He  examined  the  crude  map  in  the  railroad 
folder  and  made  out  that  by  the  next  noon,  if 
the  train  were  on  time,  he  could  make  connections 
at  Albuquerque  in  New  Mexico  with  a  train  for 
El  Paso.  To-morrow  noon  seemed  far  off,  but 
he  concluded  that  it  was  the  best  he  could  do. 
Until  then  he  should  have  to  run  his  chances, 
and  possess  himself  with  patience.  The  day 
drew  slowly  to  its  conclusion.  The  sun  streamed 
more  horizontally  across  the  arid  plain,  touching 
the  distant  mountains  with  blood-red  tints.  A 
desolate,  man-forsaken  country  !  For  miles  and 
miles  there  was  not  a  living  being,  not  a  habitation 
in  sight  from  the  railroad.  Somewhere  far  off 
beyond  those  purpling  mountains  lay  the  romantic 
land  of  Mexico,  which  seemed  the  proper  haven 
for  any  kind  of  lawlessness.  Fortunately  he  was 
abundantly  supplied  with  ready  money.  In  addi 
tion  to  the  large  sum  he  had  found  in  the  old 
wallet  he  had  come  across  in  one  of  the  inner 
drawers  of  the  safe  a  canvas  bag  of  gold  coin, 
placed  there  no  doubt  by  the  thrifty  German  for 
some  emergency  such  as  this  when  it  might  not 
be  convenient  to  get  money  from  a  bank.  So 
he  had  on  his  person  very  nearly  ten  thousand 
dollars  in  gold  and  bills,  which  ought  to  suffice 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  81 

for  an  extended  journey.  Ready  money  gave  the 
young  man  a  comfortable  sense  of  security  that 
he  had  never  hitherto  experienced  for  any  length 
of  time.  .  .  . 

At  a  division  headquarters  where  the  train  was 
changing  engines,  Brainard  with  his  head  out  of  the 
window  was  gazing  interestedly  at  the  motley 
crowd  of  plainsmen,  greasers,  and  blanketed 
Indians.  The  door  of  his  compartment  was 
brusquely  thrown  open  and  one  of  the  trainmen 
demanded : 

"What's  your  name  ?" 

Brainard  jumped  back  from  the  window,  reply 
ing  mechanically,  "Edgar  Brainard  —  why?" 

"Don't  be  scared,  stranger  !"  the  official  re 
plied  with  a  chuckle  at  Brainard's  startled  look. 
He  glanced  through  his  spectacles  at  a  yellow 
envelope.  "I'm  lookin'  for  a  party  named  Wilky 
or  Wilkins.  You  ain't  the  feller." 

Brainard  stepped  forward  to  take  the  telegram, 
but  the  man  had  already  turned  away.  It 
flashed  over  Brainard  at  once  that  probably  Far- 
son  was  trying  to  communicate  with  him,  using 
the  foolish  name  he  had  given  the  reporter  half 
in  jest.  The  friendly  newspaper  man,  grateful 
for  the  liberal  gift  he  had  received,  was  perhaps 
trying  to  warn  him  of  some  possible  danger.  It 
was  too  late  now  to  get  possession  of  the  telegram. 


82  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

The  conductor  was  passing  through  the  car,  ask 
ing  the  passengers  their  names  and  exhibiting 
the  yellow  envelope. 

For  the  next  hour  Brainard  sat  with  his  nerves 
on  edge,  his  mind  keenly  alert  to  some  impending 
danger.  Suddenly  the  train  drew  up  with  a 
forcible  application  of  the  emergency  brakes  that 
brought  the  passengers  to  their  feet.  All  the  men 
in  the  car  streamed  out  to  the  vestibules,  and 
Brainard  among  them,  to  see  what  had  happened. 


X 

"ONLY  a  bridge  gone,"  was  the  word  disgustedly 
handed  back  from  mouth  to  mouth.  There  had 
been  an  unusual  fall  of  rain  in  the  arid  country  to 
the  north,  and  for  a  few  hours  one  of  the  arroyos 
had  become  a  boiling  flood,  which  had  swept 
away  a  substantial  new  bridge.  The  passengers 
straggled  forward  to  the  scene  of  trouble. 

In  the  curious  half  light  of  the  sun  sinking  into 
the  desert  behind  and  illuminating  all  the  vast 
high  plain  with  a  brilliant  reddish  light,  the  huddle 
of  passengers  along  the  right  of  way  and  the 
stalled  cars  seemed  singularly  out  of  place,  ac 
centuating  the  desolate  loneliness  of  the  country, 
where  for  miles  and  miles  as  far  as  the  eye  could 
reach  nothing  was  to  be  seen  rising  above  the  sage 
brush  and  cactus  except  a  range  of  misty,  purple 
mountains  a  few  miles  to  the  south  and  a  huge 
water  tank  a  mile  or  two  in  the  rear.  On  either 
side  of  the  petty  stream  that  had  already  sub 
sided  to  its  normal  shallow  condition  several  trains 
had  been  caught  and  held  by  the  loss  of  the  bridge, 
the  Eastern  Limited  being  the  last  to  join  the  con 
fusion.  The  passengers  on  these  various  trains 

83 


84  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

had  mingled  along  the  right  of  way  and  were 
watching  the  efforts  of  a  large  gang  of  laborers  to 
build  a  temporary  track  across  the  gully,  which 
was  almost  completed.  Some  of  the  passengers  had 
been  there  since  early  morning,  and  these  greeted 
the  newcomers  from  the  Limited  with  joking  in 
quiries  about  the  state  of  the  larder  on  their  train. 
It  was  a  good  hundred  miles  in  either  direction  to 
any  station  possessing  a  lunch  counter,  and  the 
question  of  supper  was  becoming  of  serious  impor 
tance  to  the  less  fortunate  travelers.  As  Brain- 
ard  talked  with  some  of  these  passengers  from  the 
East,  he  was  given  a  newspaper  brought  on  the 
last  train.  It  was  the  Sunday  morning  Albuquer 
que  Star.  Brainard  drew  to  one  side  and  scanned 
its  pages  by  the  fading  light.  It  did  not  take  long 
for  him  to  find  what  he  was  seeking.  On  the 
front  page  of  the  first  section,  in  the  place  of 
honor,  there  was  an  associated  press  dispatch 
from  San  Francisco,  describing  the  sensational 
robbery  in  the  office  of  a  prominent  business  man. 
It  told  without  material  exaggeration  the  events 
of  the  afternoon  before;  there  was  no  hint  that 
the  affair  was  more  than  a  daring,  but  common 
burglary  by  a  reckless  and  experienced  hand. 
Brainard  rather  resented  this  aspect  of  the  story. 
In  conclusion  it  [said  that  the  authorities  had  strong 
clews  and  expected  to  lay  their  hands  on  the  rob- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  85 

her  before  he  would  have  any  chance  to  dispose  of 
the  more  valuable  part  of  his  haul.  Brainard 
handed  the  paper  back  to  its  owner,  chatted  for  a 
few  moments  longer  about  their  common  predica 
ment,  then  strolled  thoughtfully  back  the  way  he 
had  come. 

His  was  almost  the  last  car  of  the  three  trains 
on  the  westerly  side  of  the  arroyo,  and  as  he  picked 
his  way  beside  the  track  he  could  hear  the  few 
elderly  ladies  that  had  not  left  their  seats  talking 
about  the  delay.  It  amused  him  to  think  what 
they  would  say,  if  they  knew  that  their  quiet,  well- 
dressed  fellow  traveler  was  the  hero  of  the  tale 
he  had  just  read  in  the  Albuquerque  Star.  There 
was  a  peaceful  calm  here  in  the  rear,  for  even  the 
porters  and  the  train  hands  had  gone  forward  to 
watch  the  operations  of  the  laborers.  The  engines 
puffed  slumberously ;  there  was  an  intense  still 
ness  in  the  air;  the  sun  had  just  disappeared, 
leaving  a  dull  red  glow  in  its  place. 

It  was  perfectly  evident  to  Brainard  that  he 
could  not  hope  to  reach  Albuquerque  without 
arrest ;  he  must  leave  the  train  at  the  next  station 
of  any  size,  but  even  that  was  extremely  risky. 
With  searching  eyes  he  examined  the  country, 
which  was  now  sinking  imperceptibly  into  the 
vagueness  of  dusk.  There  was  nothing  for  miles 
in  any  direction  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon  but 


86  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

cactus  and  forlorn  sagebrush,  except  that  lonely 
water  tank  in  the  rear.  There  were  the  moun 
tains,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  many  miles  away, 
and  he  knew  that  he  could  never  reach  them  alone 
with  his  bag,  even  if  he  were  sure  that  he  could 
find  a  refuge  in  them.  No,  it  would  be  suicidal 
to  attempt  an  escape  in  this  desert !  Whatever 
came,  he  must  run  the  risk  of  waiting  until  the 
train  stopped  at  some  more  favorable  place.  He 
had  come  to  this  conclusion,  standing  beside  the 
rear  platform  of  the  last  car,  where  he  could  get 
an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  vast  landscape  and 
was  about  to  seek  the  seclusion  of  his  own  little 
room,  when  his  eye  caught  sight  of  an  object 
in  the  cactus  not  far  from  the  track.  He  soon 
made  out  the  moving  figure  of  a  small  horse  and 
a  rider,  and  waited  with  curiosity  to  see  what  sort 
of  person  would  appear  in  this  desolate  country. 

The  horse  dropped  to  a  walk,  then  halted  alto 
gether,  as  if  timid,  but  soon  approached  at  a  slow 
walk.  As  far  as  Brainard  could  see,  the  figure  was 
that  of  a  young  girl,  riding  astride  a  rough  yellow 
pony.  The  pony  crawled  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
cars,  then  refused  to  go  farther  in  spite  of  its 
rider's  efforts  with  a  quirt  to  overcome  his  fear. 
Brainard  walked  down  the  track  nearer  them. 

"Good  evenin',  stranger,"  the  girl  called  out. 
"What's  all  the  trouble  he-ar  ?" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  87 

"Bridge  gone,"  Brainard  replied  succinctly. 
"Live  around  here  ?" 

"A  ways  back,  up  yonder  !"  The  girl  hitched  a 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  south. 

"Live  in  the  water  tank  ?"  he  queried. 

"I  reckon  I  don't,  stranger,"  came  back  in  the 
severe  tones  of  a  child  whose  dignity  has  been 
ruffled. 

"Then  where  can  you  live  on  this  desert  —  is 
there  a  town  concealed  anywhere  abouts  ?  " 

The  answer  from  the  figure  on  the  pony  was  a 
pleasant  girlish  laugh,  and  then  in  the  soft, 
southern  tones  : 

"I  reckon,  stranger,  you  won't  find  much  of  a 
ta-own  this  side  of  Phoenix  —  and  that's  a  mighty 
long  ways  from  he-ar  !" 

By  this  time  Brainard  and  the  pony  had  come 
sufficiently  near  together  so  that  he  could  make  out 
the  small  straight  figure.  The  girl  could  not  be 
over  fourteen,  he  judged ;  she  was  thin  and  slight, 
with  dark  skin  and  small  features  concealed  be 
neath  the  flap  of  an  old  felt  hat.  She  wore  a 
faded  khaki  skirt  and  leather  leggings.  In  her 
small  bony  hand  dangled  a  heavy  man's  quirt 
with  which  she  swished  the  ground,  and  at  times 
she  looked  up  shyly  at  the  "stranger." 

"Where  you  from  ?"  she  inquired. 

"New  York,"  Brainard  replied. 


88  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"New  York!"  she  repeated  with  an  accent  of 
wonder  and  surprise.  "That  must  be  a  mighty 
big  ta-own." 

"Rather  more  populous  than  this  —  what  do 
you  call  it?" 

"They  call  the  siding  back  there  by  the  tank 
Phantom." 

"Phantom  —  is  that  because  it's  only  a 
mirage?" 

"I  can't  say.  .  .  .     Where  be  you  going  ?" 

"Mexico  !"  Brainard  hazarded  at  a  venture. 

"Mexico!"  the  girl  drawled.  "That  must  be 
a  sight  farther  off  than  Phoenix." 

"I  guess  it  is." 

"What  are  you  going  to  Mexico  for,  stranger  ?" 
the  girl  persisted. 

"Mining  business,"  Brainard  fabricated  glibly. 
."Copper  or  gold?" 

"All  kinds,  my  child,"  Brainard  replied 
flippantly. 

The  girl  drew  herself  up  with  considerable 
dignity,  and  remarking,  —  "I'm  agoin'  to  see  what 
they  all  be  doin'  down  yonder,"  stirred  up  the 
yellow  pony  and  rode  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
arroyo.  She  drew  up  a  few  rods  from  the  center 
of  activity  and  stood  there  in  the  twilight. 
Brainard  was  sorry  for  his  foolish  answer  that 
had  apparently  frightened  her  away.  He  went 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  89 

back  to  his  compartment,  and  after  a  few  mo 
ments'  thought  grasped  his  valise  and  got  off 
the  car. 

"If  she  can  live  in  this  country,  I  guess  lean," 
he  muttered  to  himself. 

He  flung  his  bag  down  in  the  sagebrush  and  sat 
on  it,  waiting  until  the  girl  came  back.  Presently 
there  was  a  series  of  jubilant  toots  from  the  engine 
of  the  first  train  as  a  signal  of  the  successful  re 
opening  of  traffic;  then  the  east-bound  trains 
began  slowly  to  move  one  by  one  down  into  the 
gully  over  the  temporary  track.  When  the  last 
train  had  crept  by  him  Brainard  rose  and  saun 
tered  in  the  direction  of  the  girl.  She  was  still 
sitting  motionless  on  her  pony,  absorbed  in  the 
spectacle  of  all  these  moving  trains,  —  a  peculiarly 
lonely  little  figure,  there  in  the  gathering  dusk  of 
the  desert,  watching  as  it  were  the  procession  of 
civilization  pass  by  her.  .  .  .  After  the  east- 
bound  trains  had  got  away  and  were  steaming  off 
towards  the  horizon,  the  west-bound  trains  began 
to  file  across  the  break,  having  picked  up  the 
wrecking  crew  and  their  equipment.  The  girl 
did  not  move.  Evidently  in  her  life  this  was  a 
rare  treat,  and  she  did  not  mean  to  lose  any  part 
of  it.  So  Brainard  waited  until  the  red  rear 
lamps  of  the  last  train  shone  out  by  the  water 
tank,  and  then  as  the  girl  slowly  turned  her  pony 


90  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

back  he  rose  from  the  ground  and  hailed  her. 
"Hello!" 

The  pony  shied  at  Brainard,  but  the  girl  easily 
reined  it  in.  She  did  not  seem  much  discom 
posed  by  the  sight  of  him. 

"Lost  your  train,  stranger  ?"  she  observed  with 
admirable  equanimity.  "There  won't  be  no  more 
along  'fore  to-morrow  morning,  I  reckon,"  she 
added. 

"I  don't  believe  I  want  a  train,"  he  replied. 

"Goin'  to  Mexico  on  foot  with  that  trunk?" 
she  asked.  He  detected  a  mirthful  note  in  her 
voice.  Evidently  she  took  neither  him  nor  his 
pretended  mining  business  with  great  seriousness. 

"That's  just  what  I'm  going  to  try  to  do  !" 

"Well,  you  won't  get  there  to-night,  I  reckon." 

"I  suppose  not.  Can  you  tell  me  someplace 
where  I  could  spend  the  night  ?  " 

"There's  the  water  tank,"  she  suggested,  with 
a  little  laugh. 

"Isn't  there  somebody  where  you  come  from  ?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head  quite  positively. 

"There  must  be  some  one  in  this  God-forsaken 
country  who  would  take  a  stranger  in  !  I  don't 
care  about  spending  the  night  out  here." 

The  girl  laughed  as  if  it  were  all  a  great  joke. 

"There  won't  be  nobody  to  hurt  you,  stranger." 

"Thanks!" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  91 

She  started  on  her  road.  Brainard  thought 
he  was  in  for  a  night  in  the  open  and  cursed  his 
folly  in  jumping  off  into  the  desert.  But  the  girl 
pulled  up  after  a  few  steps,  and  he  could  hear  her 
gay  chuckle  as  she  called  out : 

"You  sure  did  want  to  stay  in  Arizona  bad  — 
you  lost  six  trains  !" 

"I  meant  to!" 

"That  mining  business  must  be  very  impor 
tant." 

"Something  else  is,"  he  said  boldly. 

"Was  it  very  bad,  what  made  you  want  to  get 
to  Mexico  —  a  killing  ?  " 

"Not  as  bad  as  that." 

"What  was  it?" 

"You  wouldn't  understand,  I  am  afraid." 

"You  might  try  tellin'  of  me,  all  the  same." 

"It  isn't  anything  bad." 

"They  all  say  that,"  she  suggested  mockingly. 

"I'm  merely  trying  to  carry  out  some  one's 
orders." 

The  girl  looked  mystified,  and  after  a  moment's 
further  thought  remarked : 

"There's  old  man  Gunnison.  He  might  take 
you  in  for  the  night." 

"Where  does  he  live  ?" 

"Back  a  ways  up  the  trail." 

"Won't  you  show  me  the  way  ?" 


92  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"I  might,"  she  admitted.  "Better  give  me 
that  trunk,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  bag.  "You 
would  sure  be  tired  if  you  toted  that  all  the  way  to 
Gunnison's." 

The  girl  slipped  from  the  pony  and  expertly 
made  the  bag  fast  to  the  saddle  with  the  thongs. 
Then  taking  the  reins,  which  she  drew  over  the 
animal's  head,  she  strode  out  into  the  darkness. 
Brainard  stumbled  on  after  his  guide  as  best  he 
could.  Presently  when  he  became  more  accus 
tomed  to  the  dark  and  to  progress  over  the  uneven 
ground  he  joined  the  girl  and  tried  to  make  her 
talk.  She  developed  shyness,  however,  and  re 
plied  only  briefly  to  his  questions.  She  lived 
somewhere  up  in  the  mountains  towards  which 
they  were  traveling  and  which  could  be  dimly  per 
ceived  ahead,  a  soft,  dark  barrier  rising  in  the 
night.  But  what  she  did  there,  who  her  people 
were,  she  would  not  say.  In  spite  of  her  youth 
and  her  inexperience  she  had  a  shrewd  child's  wit 
that  could  turn  off  inconvenient  curiosity.  Al 
though  she  drawled  and  spoke  the  slovenly 
language  of  uneducated  people,  there  was  some 
thing  about  her,  perhaps  her  instinctive  reserve, 
that  bespoke  a  better  breeding  than  her  clothes 
and  her  speech  indicated.  She  did  not  make 
further  inquiries  about  Brainard's  business ;  he 
surmised  that  she  refrained  because  she  thought 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  93 

him  to  be  some  kind  of  a  wrongdoer.  He  wanted 
to  explain  to  her  his  erratic  conduct,  but  he  real 
ized  that  it  would  be  not  only  foolish  but  almost 
impossible  to  make  clear  to  her  limited  mind  just 
what  the  situation  with  him  was.  So  for  minutes 
there  was  silence  between  them  while  they 
plodded  on. 

Brainard  liked  the  girl,  felt  a  strange  sort  of 
pity  for  her,  an  unreasoned  pity  for  a  forlorn  and 
lonely  child,  who  he  instinctively  divined  was 
sensitive  and  perhaps  unhappy  in  spite  of  her 
flippant  speech. 

"What  were  you  doing  down  there  at  the  rail 
road?"  he  asked  in  another  attempt  to  start 
conversation. 

"Oh,"  she  replied  vaguely,  "nothin  V 

"Nothing  !  It  must  be  a  long  way  from  your 
home  to  the  railroad  ?" 

"It  takes  three  hours  to  ride  it,"  she  replied. 

"And  do  you  ride  down  there  often  just  to  look 
at  the  trains  go  by  ?" 

'  'Most  every  week,  stranger,"  she  said  softly. 

Brainard  whistled. 

"What  makes  you  do  that  ?" 

He  could  feel  her  toss  her  head.  Her  answer 
was  vague. 

"They're  goin'  somewheres." 

"And  you  want  to  go  on  them  ?" 


94  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Perhaps.  ...     I  expect  I  shall  some  day." 

"Where?" 

"Oh,"  she  sighed,  "anywheres  —  California, 
maybe,  —  New  York  —  somewheres  I  can  live  !" 

The  energy  with  which  she  uttered  these  last 
words  had  something  pathetic  in  it.  As  if  to 
avoid  further  confession,  she  urged  the  tired  pony 
to  a  shambling  trot  and  Brainard  again  found 
difficulty  in  keeping  the  pace.  After  another 
half  hour  of  this  blind  progress  behind  his  taciturn 
guide,  the  girl  stopped  before  what  seemed  to  be 
a  mound  of  dirt  and  remarked : 

"Here's  Gunnison's.  Maybe  the  old  man  is 
abed  —  I'll  raise  him  for  you." 

She  proceeded  to  pound  vigorously  with  the 
butt  of  her  quirt  on  the  door  of  the  dugout. 
Presently  there  was  a  sound  within,  and  a  human 
head  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Here's  a  gentleman  who  wants  to  go  to  some 
place  in  Mexico,"  the  girl  said  in  her  gentle  South 
ern  voice.  "I  told  him  it  was  pretty  fur  from 
these  parts,  but  I  reckon  you  know  how  to  git 
there,  if  any  one  does." 

"Will  you  put  me  up  for  the  night,  anyway  ?" 
Brainard  asked.  "That's  the  first  thing." 

"I  can  do  that,"  the  sleepy  Mr.  Gunnison  re 
plied  after  a  time,  coming  out  of  the  door.  "But 
if  you  be  in  a  hurry  to  reach  Mexico,  stranger, 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  95 

you'd  better  go  back  to  the  railroad  you  come  from, 
and  take  the  next  train." 

"We'll  see  about  that  in  the  morning,"  Brainard 
replied. 

The  girl  had  already  unfastened  the  bag  and 
mounted  her  pony. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  miss,  for  all  your  help  !" 

"That's  all  right,  stranger,"  she  said  cheerily, 
starting  the  pony. 

"Going  home  now?"  Brainard  asked. 

"Yes!" 

This  childish  figure,  astride  the  tired  pony, 
riding  back  into  the  lonely  mountains,  seemed  to 
him  extremely  pathetic. 

"Good-by!"  he  called  after  her.  "Hope  we 
shall  meet  again  some  day  !" 

"Reckon  we  might,  stranger!"  came  back  to 
him  in  the  soft  voice. 

"Perhaps  in  New  York  ?" 

"  Ye-as  —  or  in  Mexico." 

Then  the  pony's  feet  padded  rapidly  off  into 
the  darkness,  and  the  girl  was  gone. 

"Who  is  she  —  do  you  know?"  he  asked  the 
man. 

"Belongs  over  in  Moniment,  in  one  of  them 
mining  camps,  I  expect,"  the  old  man  replied 
indifferently.  "I  seen  her  riding  past  this  after 


noon." 


96  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Where  is  she  going  alone  at  night  ?" 

"I  dunno  —  guess  she  knows  her  own  business." 

"Such  a  small  girl!" 

"They  know  how  to  look  after  themselves,  in 
these  parts,  as  soon  as  they  can  creep,"  the  old 
man  remarked  calmly.  "They  have  to  !" 

"Monument!"  Brainard  repeated  to  himself, 
wondering  where  he  had  heard  that  name  before. 

"That's  what  they  call  it.  It  ain't  much  of  a 
place  now.  There  used  to  be  a  big  mine  near 
there,  but  it  ain't  been  worked  in  years.  .  .  . 
You  can  come  right  in  and  bunk  alongside  of  me, 
stranger." 


XI 

BRAINARD  did  not  follow  the  old  plainsman's 
advice  to  stick  to  the  railroad  for  his  travels.  In 
stead,  he  induced  Gunnison  to  leave  his  dugout 
and  guide  his  chance  guest  across  the  Mexican 
border. 

It  was  not  as  easy  as  it  looks  on  the  map  in  the 
railroad  folder  to  get  from  Phantom,  Arizona  — 
which  was  the  name  of  the  water  tank  where  he 
had  dropped  from  the  train  —  into  the  State  of 
Chihuahua;  but  Brainard  did  not  feel  pressed 
for  time.  Indeed  he  judged  it  might  be  as  well 
for  him  to  remain  out  of  all  possible  contact  with 
civilized  centers  for  several  weeks,  to  "let  things 
settle  down,"  as  he  phrased  it.  Pursuit  would 
naturally  relax  after  the  first  unsuccessful  at 
tempts  and  would  probably  concentrate  upon 
New  York  where  it  might  be  supposed  that  he 
would  ultimately  turn  up.  Moreover,  every  day 
of  delay  made  it  less  likely  that  some  observing 
busybody  would  recall  the  sensational  newspaper 
story  and  identify  him  and  his  bag  with  the  de 
scription  of  the  robber  who  had  left  San  Francisco 
on  the  evening  of  April  26.  Gunnison  asked  no 
H  97 


98  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

questions.  The  virtue  of  reticence,  Brainard 
found,  was  admirably  cultivated  in  these  sparsely 
habited  parts  of  the  earth.  The  old  man  seemed 
to  have  no  pressing  duties  to  recall  him  to  his  dug 
out,  and  so  they  followed  the  trail  leisurely,  mak 
ing  a  few  miles  each  day  and  occasionally  stopping 
for  a  day  or  two  to  rest  while  Gunnison  procured 
supplies  from  one  of  the  small  mining  towns. 

Those  weeks  on  the  trail  with  old  Gunnison  and 
the  pack  train  of  two  horses  and  a  mule  were  full 
of  joy  to  the  city-bred  man,  who  had  rarely  es 
caped  the  pavements.  The  high  altitudes,  the 
vivid  desert  colors,  the  beauty  and  the  savage 
wildness  of  this  little-known  part  of  the  world 
rilled  him  with  ecstatic  happiness  as  well  as 
abounding  health.  He  became  hard  and  rugged, 
losing  the  pallor  of  the  city  man  and  all  the  petty 
physical  weakness  that  had  contributed  largely 
to  his  fits  of  depression.  Health  made  a  new  man 
of  him  in  mind  as  well  as  in  body.  He  hardly 
recognized  himself  when  he  awoke  in  the  morn 
ing.  Never  before  had  he  known  what  it  was  to 
be  heartily  in  love  with  life,  thoroughly  vital, 
eager  to  act,  to  plan,  to  embrace  the  struggle  of 
living;  so  light  and  free  from  distressing  doubts, 
so  willing  to  test  what  destiny  held  in  store  for 
him  !  Just  as  the  exciting  events  of  his  sudden 
journey  and  his  hours  in  Krutzmacht's  office  had 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  99 

awakened  his  will  and  his  self-reliance,  so  these 
weeks  of  wandering  free  through  the  desert  and 
the  mountains  were  the  best  sort  of  preparation 
for  a  strong,  active  manhood.  Fortunately  they 
had  come  to  him  before  it  was  too  late,  before 
his  character  had  finally  settled  into  its  groove, 
and  new  powers  were  evoked  in  him,  even  phys 
ical  possibilities,  that  he  might  never  have  sus 
pected  to  be  his. 

The  nights  under  the  glittering  cover  of  the 
Arizona  heavens,  the  long  days  of  peaceful  ac 
tivity  in  the  sunlight,  the  silence  and  the  majesty 
of  these  vast  desert  spaces  appealed  to  him 
strongly,  satisfied  that  love  of  beauty  and  of 
mystery  that  had  been  crushed  hitherto.  Lying 
awake  beneath  the  stars,  his  head  pillowed  on  his 
bag,  which  had  rapidly  lost  its  suspicious  appear 
ance  of  newness,  he  speculated  upon  much  that 
had  never  before  entered  his  head.  And  his  feel 
ing  about  Krutzmacht  and  the  accident  that  had 
brought  them  together  changed.  It  was  no  longer 
a  mere  wild  jaunt,  something  unreal,  like  an  ad 
venture  in  piracy.  It  was  part  of  the  great  en 
folding  mystery  of  the  universe  that  had  touched 
him  and  enlisted  his  life.  It  seemed  that  he  had 
embarked  upon  a  mission  that  must  end  in  a  great 
experience. 

At  this  time  of  life,  with  the  blood  flowing  ac- 


100  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

lively  through  his  body,  his  mind  awake  to  all  the 
voices  of  the  earth,  it  was  but  natural  that  woman 
should  enter  into  the  affair.  Krutzmacht's  last 
mumbled  word,  —  that  dubious  "Melody," 
served  him  as  point  of  departure  for  romantic 
dreams.  Forgetting  altogether  his  reasonable  hy 
pothesis  that  it  might  prove  to  be  the  name  of 
some  firm  of  German  bankers  he  assumed  that 
"Melody"  must  be  the  name  of  a  woman.  A 
queer  name,  doubtless,  especially  for  one  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  old  German,  who  seemed 
to  have  no  affinity  for  fine  art  or  even  womanhood, 
other  than  the  common  stenographer  of  his  office. 
Nevertheless,  in  obedience  to  the  desire  of  his 
heart,  Brainard  created  a  person  to  fit  the  name, 
and  thought  of  Melody  as  a  woman. 

From  this  his  thoughts  wandered  occasionally 
to  the  little  girl  who  had  guided  him  to  old  Gun- 
nison's.  He  saw  her  slight,  wistful  figure  as  she 
stood  motionless  watching  the  procession  of  trains, 
heard  her  soft  voice  and  gurgling  laugh.  He  re 
solved  to  return  some  day  to  this  wonderful 
country,  his  mission  fulfilled,  and  discover  that 
abandoned  mining  town  of  Monument,  and  find 
there  the  little  girl  on  the  pony  who  had  come  to 
his  rescue  in  the  darkness.  He  had  probed  old 
Gunnison  for  more  exact  information  about  the 
girl,  but  either  he  knew  nothing  more  than  that 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  101 

"she  belonged  up  Moniment  way"  or  did  not  care 
to  tell  what  he  knew. 

On  other  matters  he  was  more  communicative. 
He  had  been  long  in  the  country,  knew  it  in  the 
old  days  before  it  had  been  invaded  by  railroads 
and  large  mining  companies.  He  had  prospected 
from  the  Colorado  River  south  to  Chihuahua  in 
old  Mexico.  He  had  driven  cattle  from  Texas 
to  Nebraska,  and  latterly  worked  on  the  railroad. 
He  knew  Indians,  "greasers,"  miners,  cowboys, 
and  for  hour  after  hour  he  talked  of  what  he  had 
seen  "before  it  got  so  dern  ceevilized  in  these 
parts."  In  other  words,  before  there  was  a  rail 
road  line  two  hundred  miles  to  the  east  and  another 
three  or  four  hundred  miles  west !  He  knew  where 
to  camp  and  where  supplies  could  be  got  without 
arousing  undue  curiosity.  He  knew  horses  and 
mules  and  men.  And  he  taught  the  young  man 
some  of  these  useful  things  that  he  knew  so  that 
when  they  parted  in  the  city  of  Guadalajara 
Brainard  felt  more  grateful  to  him  than  to  any 
one  of  the  regular  instructors  of  youth,  who  had 
given  him  his  so-called  "education."  He  paid 
him  liberally  for  his  services,  and  the  old  man, 
sticking  the  bills  beneath  the  band  of  his  felt  hat, 
made  a  few  final  remarks  to  his  patron : 

"I  don't  know  where  you  come  from,  my  son, — 
hain't  asked  yer,  and  I  don'  want  to  know.  You've 


102  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

treated  me  right,  and  I've  treated  you  right.  I 
guess  if  you  keep  free  of  cards,  and  drink,  and 
women,  and  keep  on  agoin*  due  saouth,  you'll 
likely  strike  the  City  of  Mexico,  before  you  be 
much  older,  and  keep  your  belongin's  with  yer," 
he  added,  smiling  upon  the  bag  that  Brainard  had 
so  carefully  guarded. 

"I  think  I'll  try  the  railroad  for  a  change," 
Brainard  laughed  back. 

"It's  quicker  —  sometimes,"  the  old  man  ad 
mitted,  "if  you  don't  find  too  many  troublesome 
persons  traveling  the  same  way  ! " 

With  this  last  hint  he  waved  farewell  and 
started  northwards  for  the  States. 


XII 

THE  next  day  Brainard  entered  the  City  of 
Mexico,  lean  and  brown  and  hard,  with  a  very 
much  travel-stained  valise.  So  far  as  he  could 
learn  from  the  few  American  newspapers  he  had 
come  across,  there  had  been  no  further  excitement 
over  Krutzmacht's  death,  and  the  robbery  of  his 
safe.  If  a  pursuit  had  been  undertaken,  the  fact 
had  been  carefully  kept  from  the  press ;  and  he 
felt  confident  that  by  this  time  either  it  had  been 
given  up,  or  the  persons  interested  were  watching 
the  wrong  places. 

There  was  a  steamer  sailing  for  Havre  from  Vera 
Cruz  sometime  towards  the  end  of  the  month,  and 
he  resolved  to  take  it,  meanwhile  resting  and 
making  a  few  preparations  for  his  voyage.  It 
was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  been  out 
side  his  own  country,  and  every  sight  and  sound  in 
this  bastard  Spanish  metropolis  filled  him  with 
curiosity  and  pleasure.  He  secured  his  cabin  on 
the  Toulouse,  and  then  set  out  to  do  the  sights. 

The  second  evening,  as  he  was  resting  after  a 
busy  day  in  the  cool  courtyard  of  the  old  Hotel 
Iturbide,  a  little  man  in  a  bedraggled  linen  duster 

103 


104  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

hitched  his  chair  across  the  stones  toward  Brain- 
ard. 

"Just  come  down  from  the  States  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Brainard  nodded. 

With  this  slight  encouragement,  the  stranger 
launched  forth  upon  a  rambling  talk  about  him 
self.  He  had  come  to  Mexico,  several  years  be 
fore,  to  manage  a  rubber-planting  enterprise,  and 
the  "dirty  dagoes"  had  done  him  out  of  his  last 
cent.  Soon  he  proposed  having  a  drink  with  his 
compatriot,  "in  honor  of  the  greatest  country  in 
God's  world."  When  Brainard  refused,  saying 
that  he  was  tired  and  was  going  to  bed,  the  Amer 
ican  shambled  along  by  his  side  through  the 
corridors. 

Judging  that  his  fellow  countryman  was  a 
harmless  dead-beat,  Brainard  put  his  hand  into 
his  pocket,  and  drew  forth  a  bill,  as  the  easiest 
way  of  ridding  himself  of  an  unwelcome  compan 
ion.  At  sight  of  the  money,  the  man's  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  Taking  his  benefactor's  arm,  he 
poured  forth  a  flood  of  personal  confession  and 
thanks  that  lasted  until  they  were  at  the  door  of 
Brainard's  room. 

"Let  me  come  in  and  talk  to  you  a  minute," 
the  stranger  begged.  "Ain't  often  I  see  a  decent 
man  from  God's  country,  and  I  get  lonely  down 
here,"  he  whimpered. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  105 

"All  right,"  Brainard  replied  reluctantly,  won 
dering  how  he  could  rid  himself  of  the  fellow. 

When  he  turned  on  the  electric  light,  the 
stranger's  eyes  roamed  carelessly  over  the  room. 
It  seemed  to  Brainard  that  his  guest  exhibited 
much  more  keenness  than  his  forlorn  and  lacrimose 
state  warranted. 

As  Brainard  turned  to  the  wardrobe  to  fetch  a 
box  of  cigars,  he  caught  the  man's  eyes  fastened 
on  the  valise  which  was  shoved  under  the  bed. 
Brainard  gave  him  a  cigar,  but  did  not  invite 
him  to  sit  down,  and  after  a  little  while  he  left, 
thanking  Brainard  profusely  for  his  hospitality. 
As  he  went  out  of  the  door,  his  eyes  rested  once 
more  on  the  bag  beneath  the  bed. 

After  his  visitor  had  left,  Brainard  prepared  to 
undress.  First  he  placed  his  watch  and  pocket- 
book  on  the  night  table.  Over  them  he  laid  his 
revolver,  which  he  had  purchased  in  his  wander 
ings,  and,  under  Gunnison's  directions,  had  learned 
to  use.  Now  that  he  was  outside  the  States,  who 
ever  might  dispute  with  him  the  possession  of 
Krutzmacht's  property  would  have  to  make  good 
his  demands.  He  had  lost  every  trace  of  that 
nervous  fear  which  had  made  miserable  the  day 
after  his  departure  from  San  Francisco. 

Before  turning  out  his  light,  he  glanced  into  the 
courtyard,  and  caught  sight  of  his  recent  acquain- 


106  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

tance  skulking  behind  a  pillar.  For  several  min 
utes  Brainard  stood  behind  his  curtain,  looking 
into  the  courtyard,  and  in  all  this  time  the  man  did 
not  move  from  his  post. 

There  was  no  reason,  Brainard  said  to  himself, 
why  this  dead-beat  should  not  spend  the  night  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  Hotel  Iturbide.  Turning 
out  the  light,  he  got  into  bed;  but  he  could  not 
sleep,  and  presently  he  rose  and  peered  cautiously 
out  into  the  dark.  The  courtyard,  faintly  lighted 
by  the  lamps  in  the  office,  was  empty.  This 
disturbed  him  rather  more  than  the  skulking 
presence  of  the  American,  although  he  could  give 
no  reason  for  his  suspicion  beyond  the  stranger's 
apparent  interest  in  his  valise. 

He  got  back  into  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  After 
tossing  restlessly  for  another  hour,  he  rose  and 
dressed.  As  soon  as  the  first  light  appeared,  he 
took  his  bag  and  groped  his  way  through  the  dark 
corridors  to  the  office.  He  inquired  of  the  night 
porter  about  trains  and  found  that  there  was  an 
early  morning  train  to  the  North.  Saying  that  he 
had  had  a  bad  night  and  thought  he  would  go  to 
the  railroad  station  and  wait  there  for  the  train, 
he  paid  his  bill,  not  forgetting  to  add  a  good  tip. 
The  man  offered  to  get  him  a  cab,  but  he  refused, 
saying  that  he  could  easily  pick  up  one  in  the 
street.  As  the  porter  who  had  been  roused  to 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  107 

something  like  animation  by  his  pour  boire  un 
barred  the  great  door,  Brainard  asked  him  cas 
ually  : 

"Do  you  know  that  Gringo  who  was  talking 
to  me  last  evening  —  the  one  who  was  hanging 
about  here  all  the  evening  ?" 

"No,  senor,"  the  man  replied.  "He's  been  in 
and  out  at  the  hotel  for  a  week.  Just  come  from 
the  States,  and  lost  all  his  money  at  cards  so  soon. 
A  bad  lot !"  with  a  final  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"He  told  me  he  had  been  here  several  years  !" 
Brainard  exclaimed. 

"No,  senor,  that  cannot  be.  He  knows  no 
Spanish.  Probably  he  wished  money  from  you  to 
go  back  to  the  States." 

"Very  likely  —  well,  he  didn't  get  much  !" 

After  a  short  walk  Brainard  came  out  upon  the 
plaza  in  front  of  the  cathedral.  The  cracked  bells 
of  that  great  edifice  were  clanging  inharmoniously 
for  the  early  mass.  Already  country  people  had 
arrived  with  market  produce,  and  there  was  con 
siderable  stir  in  the  beautiful  May  morning. 
Brainard  walked  about  the  plaza  until  he  found 
an  old,  muddy  diligence  drawn  by  four  little 
mules  that  was  about  to  start  for  some  village  of 
an  unpronounceable  Indian  name.  Brainard  took 
a  place  inside  and  waited  for  it  to  fill  with  passen 
gers.  'At  last  the  driver  climbed  into  his  perch, 


108  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

and  the  diligence  rattled  off  through  the  square 
over  the  stone  streets  just  as  the  sun  was  rising 
into  a  clear  sky.  A  regiment  of  rarales  came 
galloping  down  the  narrow  street,  with  its  band 
playing  a  lively  air.  The  diligence  pulled  to  one 
side,  then  turned  off  towards  the  west,  and  soon 
it  was  out  in  the  flowering  fields  of  the  great  pla 
teau.  As  he  left  the  city  pavements,  Brainard 
smiled  to  himself  at  the  disappointment  his  ac 
quaintance  of  the  night  before  might  be  having 
at  the  railroad  station.  Of  course,  he  might  be 
nothing  worse  than  a  stranded  dead-beat  anxious 
to  sponge  a  few  dollars  from  a  good-natured  com 
patriot  who  appeared  to  be  in  funds. 

But  Brainard  would  take  no  chances  !  If  the 
contents  of  his  battered  valise  were  as  valuable  as 
he  thought  they  must  be,  the  persons  interested 
in  securing  them  would  spare  no  effort  or  expense 
in  tracking  him.  Although  he  had  grown  brown 
from  the  sun  and  much  stouter  and  had  discarded 
his  spectacles,  still  it  would  not  be  difficult  for  a 
good  detective  to  identify  him  from  a  description 
furnished  by  the  stenographer. 

And  if  this  fellow  were  really  after  him,  it  was 
not  likely  that  he  was  alone.  So  it  was  important 
that  he  should  find  some  small  place  where  he 
could  spend  the  remaining  days  before  the  de 
parture  of  the  French  line  boat.  It  was  a  pity 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  109 

that  the  diligence  he  had  chosen  at  random  should 
apparently  be  making  in  the  opposite  direction 
from  Vera  Cruz.  But  the  morning  was  too  bril 
liant,  and  Brainard's  nerves  were  too  sound  to  let 
anything  worry  him.  Thus,  with  the  few  words 
of  Spanish  which  he  had  acquired  while  he  was 
with  old  Gunnison,  he  launched  himself  again  gayly 
upon  the  unknown  in  Mexico. 

"The  world  is  full  of  ways,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"All  you  have  to  do  is  to  take  one  !" 


XIII 

IF  there  was  a  spot  on  the  round  earth  where  a 
somewhat  weary  fugitive  might  spend  a  few  quiet 
days  in  absolute  retirement,  undisturbed  by  in 
quisitive  intruders,  it  must  surely  be  the  little 
Mexican  town  of  Jalapa.  Situated  on  a  gentle 
hill  not  far  from  the  snowy  dome  of  Orizaba,  about 
midway  between  the  hot  coast  and  the  lofty  cen 
tral  plateau,  Jalapa  is  a  mass  of  green  verdure  and 
possesses  a  delightful  climate.  All  about  on  the 
slopes  of  Orizaba  and  in  the  green  valleys  are  ex 
tensive  coffee  plantations,  watered  by  delightful 
streams.  Everywhere  great  umbrageous  trees, 
tropical  in  their  luxuriance,  shade  the  approaches 
to  the  old  town.  Jalapa  itself  consists  of  a  few 
streets  of  white  buildings  with  irregular  tile  roofs, 
a  squat  cathedral  of  the  Spanish-American  type, 
fertile  green  gardens  carefully  walled  in,  and  of 
course  a  plaza,  which  at  this  season  of  the  year  was 
abloom  with  fragrant  lilies. 

To  Brainard,  after  a  week  of  circuitous  wander 
ing  through  Mexican  villages,  sleeping  and  eating 
in  filthy  places,  it  seemed  a  veritable  oasis.  As 

110 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  111 

the  mule  cart  in  which  he  had  completed  the  last 
part  of  his  erratic  journey  slowly  dragged  him  up 
the  shady  hill,  he  had  visions  of  a  good  bath  and  a 
day  or  two  of  complete  idleness  before  moving  on 
to  Vera  Cruz,  to  take  the  boat  for  Havre.  His 
clothes  sadly  needed  attention,  and  he  was  un 
comfortably  aware  that  in  addition  to  a  useful 
acquaintance  with  the  Spanish  language  he  had 
also  acquired  a  miscellaneous  assortment  of  ver 
min  from  his  recent  wandering.  The  somnolent 
streets  in  the  hot  May  afternoon  were  nearly 
deserted,  so  that  his  arrival  in  the  town  aroused 
little  attention.  As  the  mule  cart  drew  up  in  the 
courtyard  of  a  clean-looking  hotel  next  to  the 
cathedral  and  opposite  the  pretty  plaza,  he  con 
gratulated  himself  thoroughly  on  his  luck.  Hav 
ing  seen  his  bag  deposited  carefully  in  one  of  the 
enormous  bedrooms  that  faced  the  plaza,  and 
accomplished  the  desired  bath,  he  descended  to  the 
patio  on  an  exploring  expedition.  Near  the  trick 
ling  fountain  in  the  center  of  the  patio  a  well- 
dressed  man  was  seated,  reading  a  book.  Brain- 
ard  instinctively  felt  that  he  must  be  an  American 
from  the  appearance  of  his  clothes,  although  his 
face  was  hidden  by  the  book.  On  the  small  iron 
table  by  his  side  an  iced  drink  was  standing.  The 
stranger  reached  for  this  and  dropped  his  book 
long  enough  to  perceive  Brainard. 


112  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 


"Hello!"  he  said  calmly,  "when  did  you 
arrive?" 

Brainard  recognized  the  fight-trust  magnate 
whom  he  had  met  on  the  Overland  Limited. 

"You  here  too  !"  he  exclaimed.  "What  brings 
you  down  here  ?" 

Hollinger  sipped  his  drink  and  eyed  the  young 
man  as  though  to  say,  —  "we  don't  ask  that  sort 
of  question  in  these  parts  —  it  is  very  crude  of 
you." 

"Oh,  business  and  pleasure,  —  that  combination 
which  carries  us  mortals  most  everywhere,"  he 
observed  and  with  a  slight  stress  added,-  "the 
same  I  judge  that  brought  you  to  Mexico." 

"Exactly,"  Brainard  laughed.  "I  can't  say 
how  much  is  business  and  how  much  pleasure." 

"And  possibly  a  dash  of  —  something  else?" 
Hollinger  suggested  genially.  "Well,  let's  have 
another  drink  on  it.  Mozol  ...  A  southern 
gentleman  who  resides  in  Jalapa  has  taught  these 
people  how  to  make  his  favorite  form  of  booze.  It 
is  cooled  by  snow  brought  from  the  mountains  on 
mule  back  —  and  is  very  refreshing." 

When  the  waiter  had  brought  two  high  glasses 
filled  with  the  crystal  flakes  of  snow,  the  fight- 
trust  magnate  grew  more  expansive. 

"Yes,  shortly  after  I  had  the  pleasure  of  making 
your  acquaintance  I  found  the  climate  of  Califor- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  113 

nia  uncongenial  to  my  nerves,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  and  having  business  interests  in  Mexico 
I  took  a  little  vacation.  Delightful  time  of  the 
year  here,  don't  you  think  ?" 

Brainard  agreed  enthusiastically. 

"You  didn't  make  a  long  stay  with  us  on  the 
Coast,"  Hollinger  remarked,  with  the  shadow  of  a 
smile.  Brainard  knew  that  the  fight-trust  man 
suspected  his  story,  but  judged  it  wiser  to  avoid 
personal  confidences.  For  this  reason  he  refrained 
from  inquiring  whether  the  American's  business 
had  to  do  with  some  notable  encounter  that  was 
to  be  staged  in  Mexico  in  order  to  avoid  the 
laws  in  the  States.  Hollinger 's  next  remark 
seemed  to  indicate  that  such  was  his  "business 
interest"  in  this  country. 

"We  are  apt  to  look  down  upon  Mexico,"  he 
said  sententiously.  "But  it  is  a  great  country. 
We  say  that  it  is  not  civilized.  That  is  just  why 
it  is  a  great  country.  It  is  not  civilized  in  our 
peculiar,  narrow  way,  and  hence  we  deny  that  it 
has  any  civilization." 

"It  certainly  has  fleas,"  Brainard  threw  in 
flippantly. 

"Exactly,  young  man  —  it  has  fleas  and  there 
fore  you  think  it  is  barbarous.  You  have  been 
brought  up  among  a  people  that  regards  cleanli 
ness  as  above  godliness  and  the  other  fellow's 
i 


114  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

godliness  of  more  importance  than  his  own ! 
That  is  what  is  called  Puritanism.  You  under 
stand  me  ?" 

Brainard  nodded.  He  began  to  comprehend 
the  results  of  Hollinger's  reading  on  the  Overland. 

"Now,"  continued  Hollinger,  clearing  his  throat, 
"I  have  nothing  to  say  against  Puritanism.  It's 
a  very  good  thing  for  some  people.  It  did  some 
mighty  fine  work  in  the  world." 

"Discovered  Plymouth  Rock,  for  instance." 

"Yes,  and  created  the  nicest  lot  of  little  hypo 
critical  tight- wads  there  in  New  England  the  world 
has  ever  seen.  We  needed  those  tight- wads  out 
west  —  we  needed  their  bank  accounts,  I  mean  to 
say.  But  we  don't  need  'em  any  longer,  only 
they  can't  understand  it  and  keep  shoving  their 
morals  in  our  faces.  That's  the  trouble  with 
America  all  over  at  the  present  date.  Puritanism 
breaks  out  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  like  the 
measles.  And  it  always  means  trying  to  make  the 
other  feller  as  good  as  you  think  he  oughter  be  — 
and  a  damn  sight  better  than  you  are  yourself  !" 

He  paused  to  send  for  another  drink.  Brainard 
wondered  what  the  august  author  of  the  great 
epic  would  have  thought  of  this  twentieth  century 
criticism  of  his  theory. 

"Now  Mexico  is  free  from  all  that  sort  of  cant, 
and  that  is  why  I  said  Mexico  was  destined  to  be  a 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  115 

great  country.  In  Mexico  they  let  the  individual 
alone.  You  see,  the  Church  is  supposed  to  look 
after  the  morals  of  the  community.  That  is  a 
great  relief  —  it  simplifies  life  and  makes  it  much 
more  honest.  The  Church  does  the  best  it  can, 
and  the  State  helps  it  out  when  necessary.  But 
the  Church  don't  expect  too  much,  the  Catholic 
Church  I  mean,  of  human  beings,  and  so  it  isn't 
disappointed.  It  all  works  beautifully !  You'll 
never  find  in  Mexico  such  a  fool  performance  as 
that  going  on  in  San  Francisco  to-day.  They're 
no  puritans  in  California  either.  They  don't  want 
reform  —  they  don't  want  to  shut  up  the  cafes  and 
French  restaurants  and  prevent  the  city  council 
from  getting  its  little  rakeoff  —  not  a  bit  of  it ! 
It's  only  this  puritan  bug  has  got  hold  of  some 
6  better  than  thous '  among  us,  and  they  are  raising 
hell." 

He  paused  to  finish  his  drink  and  wipe  his  brow. 

"It  always  heats  me  to  think,"  he  explained. 
"But  I  was  saying  that  for  this  reason  Mexico  has 
a  great  part  to  play  in  the  future.  For  one  thing, 
it  furnishes  us  Americans  a  possible  place  to  live 
in  when  our  own  country  has  one  of  these  right 
eous  attacks  and  is  cleaning  house.  Lovely 
country,  lovely  climate,  lovely  people  —  if  you 
know  how  to  handle  'em  right.  No,  sir,  I  hope 
they'll  never  civilize  Mexico  in  my  time  any  more 


116  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

than  it  is  civilized  at  present.  The  natural  man 
needs  a  country,  and  Mexico  is  his  country.  .  .  . 
Come  on  —  let's  have  a  look  at  the  town.  The 
band  will  be  playing  in  the  square  a  little  later,  and 
you  will  see  some  of  the  prettiest  girls  you  ever 
saw  in  your  life." 

The  fight-trust  man  lighted  another  cigar,  put 
on  his  panama  hat,  and  tucked  an  arm  under 
Brainard's  elbow,  and  thus  they  sallied  forth  to 
explore  Jalapa.  Brainard  might  not  agree  with 
his  friend's  anti-puritanism,  but  he  heartily  agreed 
with  his  praise  of  Mexico.  At  this  gentle  hour  of 
the  late  afternoon  soft  rosy  clouds  hovered  about 
the  white  head  of  old  Orizaba.  The  gardens, 
glimpses  of  which  might  be  caught  through  iron- 
barred  gates,  were  fragrant  with  flowering  trees,  in 
which  the  birds  sang  madly.  After  a  short  ramble 
about  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  they  returned  to 
the  plaza,  which  was  now  fairly  filled  with  men 
and  women  and  children,  gathered  to  hear  the 
military  band  and  to  enjoy  the  fragrant  coolness  of 
the  dying  day.  Many  of  the  brown  peon  girls 
were  pretty,  and  the  Spanish  women,  pallid  and 
black-haired,  with  white  mantillas,  quite  fascinated 
the  young  American.  A  fountain  shot  a  lively 
jet  of  water  into  the  sunlight.  The  great  white 
lilies  drooped  their  golden  chalices  under  shining 
leaves.  The  band  of  Indians  at  the  other  end  of 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  117 

the  square  played  operatic  music  that  came 
through  the  soft  air  languorously  in  harmony  with 
the  atmosphere. 

"Where  in  America,  the  land  of  the  puritan, 
can  you  get  so  much  for  your  money  ?"  Hollinger 
demanded.  "It  is  only  in  the  lands  of  license 
that  the  people  delight  in  innocent  things." 

He  flung  a  copper  coin  to  a  beggar  woman,  who 
crossed  herself  and  blessed  him. 

"It  is  even  pleasant  to  give  to  the  beggars,  in 
stead  of  subscribing  to  an  orphan  asylum  !  We 
make  virtue  so  dull  and  inhuman."  .  .  . 

As  they  strolled  towards  the  hotel  for  dinner, 
they  were  joined  by  a  tall,  lean,  lank  fellow  coun 
tryman,  whom  Hollinger  introduced  to  Brainard 
as  Major  Galloway,  -  -  "from  Alabama,  superin 
tendent  of  the  Jalapa-Vera  Cruz  branch  of  the 
railroad."  The  three  dined  together  in  the  patio 
with  a  young  German,  who  was  the  agent  for  a 
firm  of  coffee  merchants  in  Hamburg.  They  had 
an  extraordinary  Mexican  dinner,  consisting  of 
the  most  fiery  condiments  that  Brainard  had  ever 
put  into  his  mouth.  His  eyes  were  constantly 
watering,  and  he  drank  quantities  of  water,  much 
to  the  amusement  of  the  others,  who  swallowed 
the  pungent  food  with  relish.  They  sat  for  a  long 
time  over  their  coffee  and  some  very  black  cigars 
that  Galloway  produced,  listening  to  the  stories 


118  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

the  Southerner  told.  It  seemed  that  he  had  been 
in  the  country  forty  years,  in  fact  ever  since  the 
close  of  the  Civil  War,  in  which  Galloway  had 
gained  his  title.  Until  recently  the  railroad  had 
been  but  a  mule  tramway  and  Jalapa  not  even  a 
"spot  on  the  map."  He  regarded  it  now  as  a 
metropolis.  Mexico  according  to  this  old  resident 
was  hopelessly  tame  and  civilized  under  the  firm 
rule  of  Diaz  and  the  influx  of  money-making  Amer 
icans  and  Germans.  "You  should  have  seen  it 
in  the  old  days  when  a  man  could  live  as  he  liked. 
Why,  they  have  even  got  extradition  laws  for 
most  things  now,"  he  complained. 

"But  they  don't  use  'em,"  the  fight-trust  man 
put  in  suavely. 

Listening  to  the  regrets  expressed  by  the  railroad 
manager,  Brainard  perceived  that  the  perfect  era 
of  freedom  and  joy  was  always  somewhat  removed 
from  the  present  time  and  place.  Galloway  was 
most  friendly  to  the  young  American. 

"I'll  show  your  young  friend  one  of  the  old-time 
places  to-morrow.  It  isn't  far  from  here  —  just 
a  pleasant  ride  of  a  couple  of  hours." 

So  a  party  was  arranged  for  the  early  morning, 
and  then  Brainard  excused  himself  because  of  his 
fatigue,  while  the  others  went  out  to  a  cafe  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening. 

Before    sinking    into    his    clean,    inviting    bed 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  119 

Brainard  stepped  to  the  balcony  to  look  once  more 
at  the  snowy  crown  of  Orizaba  that  shone  softly 
in  the  starlight  across  the  valley.  The  plaza  and 
the  street  beneath  the  balcony  were  deserted  ex 
cept  for  an  occasional  figure  that  slouched  along, 
covered  even  to  the  head  with  a  long  cloak.  At 
the  next  corner  he  saw  a  young  man  leaning  against 
the  window  of  a  house,  talking  to  some  one  within, 
doing  his  courting  in  the  manner  of  the  country. 
A  sharp  call  rose  into  the  night  from  the  distance, 
answered  by  another,  and  then  all  was  silence. 
From  the  plaza  across  the  street  came  the  sweet 
scent  of  lilies.  It  was  the  rich,  languorous  night 
of  the  semitropics,  full  of  perfume  and  mystery, 
-  romance  for  youth,  —  a  bit  crude,  perhaps, 
and  elementary,  but  appealing  to  every  sense. 

Brainard  sank  asleep  to  dream  of  a  land  of  en 
chantment,  full  of  hidden  gardens,  the  sound  of 
swaying  trees  and  falling  water,  the  scent  of  lilies, 
the  sweet  glances  of  dark  women. 


XIV 

VERY  early  the  next  morning  after  the  usual 
deep  cup  of  chocolate  Brainard  joined  Hollinger 
and  Major  Galloway,  and  the  little  party  set  forth 
on  horseback.  They  rode  through  the  silent 
town,  between  high  walls  jealously  guarding  the 
privacy  of  large  gardens,  out  into  the  fields  which 
were  drenched  with  a  heavy  dew  like  rain.  The 
birds  sang  in  the  arching  trees  above  the  road. 
The  sun  came  up  from  a  golden  mist  in  the  low 
lands  below  and  touched  the  hoary  crest  of  Ori 
zaba.  Brainard  had  never  seen  such  an  incarna 
tion  of  spring  upon  the  earth  as  this  glorious  May 
morning,  and  his  heart  sang  joyously,  free  of  care, 
forgetful  of  the  burden  of  his  heavy  bag  and  all 
the  coil  of  events  that  had  brought  him  hither. 
Like  a  schoolboy  he  was  resolved  to  have  his  holi 
day.  The  lively  chestnut  horse  with  which  Gallo 
way  had  mounted  him  danced  mincingly,  chafing 
at  the  heavy  bit.  The  magnate  of  the  fight  trust 
in  a  short  jacket  and  leather  breeches,  a  broad 
straw  sombrero  on  his  head,  a  long  black  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  had  the  appearance  of  a  bull  fighter 
on  parade.  He  too  seemed  gay  in  mood,  and  called 

120 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  121 

Brainard's  attention  to  the  richness  of  the  land, 
the  varied  specimens  of  tropical  trees  beneath 
which  they  rode,  the  beauty  of  the  landscape, 
always  dominated  by  the  symmetrical  snow- 
crowned  mountain.  Galloway  and  the  German 
took  the  expedition  more  phlegmatically,  dis 
cussing  the  prospects  of  the  new  coffee  yield. 

From  the  shaded  hill  road  they  emerged  upon  a 
fertile  valley  where  the  peons  were  already  at 
work  in  the  fields.  And  they  also  began  to  meet 
the  country  population  moving  towards  Jalapa 
for  the  weekly  fair.  Hollinger,  who  seemed  to 
have  a  fair  command  of  Spanish,  joked  with  men 
and  women  along  the  road. 

"You  couldn't  do  that  in  the  States!"  he  re 
marked  to  Brainard.  "They'd  just  give  you  a 
couple  of  sour  looks  and  vote  for  no  license."  .  .  . 

The  little  party  rode  up  to  the  Hagienda  di 
Rosas  in  time  for  the  second  breakfast.  The 
old  Englishman  seemed  delighted  to  welcome 
Galloway's  friends  and  presented  them  to  his 
placid  Mexican  wife  and  his  two  daughters.  The 
younger  of  these  fell  to  Brainard  at  the  breakfast, 
which  was  served  in  the  cool  patio  shaded  by  a 
thick  canopy  of  rose  vines.  Senorita  Marie  was 
very  small,  very  pretty,  and  very  naive,  —  just 
home  from  a  convent  near  Madrid,  she  told  the 
young  American.  She  spoke  English  daintily, 


122  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

mixed  occasionally  with  French  and  Spanish 
phrases  and  some  very  modern  American  slang 
whose  meaning  she  seemed  scarcely  to  under 
stand.  She  was  so  unlike  the  few  American 
girls  that  Brainard  had  known,  so  little  able  "to 
look  out  for  herself"  as  they  were,  so  appealing 
with  shy  glances  from  her  black  eyes,  that  from 
the  first  moment  he  scarce  remembered  where  he 
was  or  heard  the  conversation  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table.  She  was  exquisitely  small  and  dainty, 
like  one  of  those  Spanish  beauties  by  Goya  that 
Brainard  had  seen  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum. 
Her  black  hair  was  drawn  close  about  her  delicate 
head,  concealing  her  ears  and  setting  off  the  fair 
ness  of  her  skin,  which  had  an  underglow  of  faint 
rose.  Her  voice  was  a  murmur  and  a  whisper,  at 
times  like  broken  bird  notes,  as  if  meant  for  one 
ear  alone.  They  talked  of  the  nothings  that  mean 
much  to  youth.  She  told  him  of  her  life  in  the 
convent,  her  one  winter  in  the  City  of  Mexico 
with  its  formal  parties,  her  brother  studying  to  be 
an  engineer  in  a  New  York  school. 

After  the  siesta  they  went  into  the  plantation, 
and  Brainard  lingered  while  the  others  drifted  on 
discussing  the  culture  of  coffee  and  its  future. 
Senorita  Marie  showed  him  her  favorite  walk 
with  a  view  of  Orizaba  across  the  valley,  told  him 
that  her  favorite  poet  was  Tennyson,  the  flower 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  123 

she  loved  best  was  the  rose,  the  time  of  the  year 
spring,  the  time  of  the  day  twilight.  And  she 
asked  him  if  he  had  brothers  and  sisters  and  was 
a  good  Catholic.  The  time  might  come,  and 
shortly  perhaps,  when  the  childishness  of  this 
little  mind  would  be  apparent  to  Brainard,  but  on 
this  heavenly  May  afternoon  with  the  birds  sing 
ing  in  the  thickets  and  lazy  white  clouds  floating 
across  the  snowy  summit  of  the  volcano,  their 
talk  seemed  quite  wonderful  and  the  girl  herself 
the  most  exquisite  and  adorable  creature  he  had 
ever  known. 

"American  girls  do  not  talk  like  that,  no  ?"  she 
murmured,  appealing  to  him. 

"No,  they  don't!" 

"Ah,  but  you  see  it's  different  down  here  — 
we  have  only  little  things  to  think  about,  we 
women,  all  day  long." 

"It  is  very  pleasant  down  here,"  the  young 
American  sighed. 

"You  like  it?"  she  responded  eagerly.  "But 
you  would  not  like  it  for  always.  .  .  .  You  Amer 
ican  men  are  like  that.  You  come  to  see  the 
plantation  and  drink  coffee  and  talk  —  maybe 
you  flirt  a  little,  no  ?  —  and  then  you  ride  away 
and  say  you  will  write.  But  you  never  write, 
and  you  never  come  back  ! " 

"I  shall  write,  and  I  shall  come  back." 


124  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

The  small  lady  shook  her  head  with  a  demure 
smile.  They  returned  slowly  through  the  fields. 
Yes,  this  girl  was  utterly  different  from  the 
women  of  his  own  race,  and  her  difference  ap 
pealed  to  him.  She  seemed,  even  in  her  simplic 
ity,  more  womanly,  more  as  women  were  meant 
to  be,  the  protected  and  the  adored.  His  imagina 
tion  built  up  a  pretty  picture  of  a  dreamy  existence 
in  a  beautiful  country  with  such  a  trusting,  simple, 
lovable  creature  as  companion. 

"Why  do  you  go  away  so  soon  ?"  she  demanded 
as  they  neared  the  house. 

"I  must  take  the  boat  for  Europe,"  he  replied. 

"There  will  be  another  boat  in  a  month." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  stay  ?" 

"Of  course  !     Don't  you  know  that  ?"  .  .  . 

Galloway  and  Hollinger  were  already  on  horse 
back  in  the  courtyard,  about  to  start  without 
him. 

"Are  you  coming  with  us  ?"  the  fight-trust  man 
asked  with  an  ironical  smile. 

The  Englishman  and  his  wife  gave  the  young 
stranger  a  cordial  invitation  to  remain  and  make  a 
long  visit.  Brainard  was  about  to  accept  when 
he  remembered  his  bag  left  unguarded  in  the  hotel 
room. 

"I  shall  have  to  return  to  the  hotel  for  to-night," 
he  said  reluctantly. 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  125 

"Well,  I'll  drive  over  for  you  and  your  luggage 
to-morrow,"  the  Englishman  insisted  cordially. 

And  Senorita  Marie  whispered  demurely,  "Au 
revoir  —  there's  another  steamer  —  in  a  month  !" 

So  Brainard  rode  off  with  the  others,  very  much 
pleased  with  himself  and  life,  lightly  putting  aside 
his  settled  purpose  of  taking  the  Toulouse  two  days 
hence.  What  urgent  reason  for  haste,  when  life 
was  so  full  of  promise  and  of  beauty  ?  Another 
month  would  do  as  well  for  Krutzmacht's  busi 
ness.  .  .  . 

"You  didn't  see  much  of  the  plantation,"  the 
Southerner  drawled  to  Brainard  as  the  young 
man's  horse  drew  up  abreast. 

"He  saw  a  great  deal  of  something  more  to  his 
liking,"  Hollinger  observed,  a  little  ironical  smile 
on  his  lips. 

"I  had  a  very  good  day,"  Brainard  responded 
simply,  wishing  to  avoid  further  reference  to  the 
girl. 

The  daylight  quickly  faded,  and  before  they 
reached  the  hill  on  which  Jalapa  lies,  the  moon 
was  up,  flooding  the  valley  and  the  mountains. 
Galloway  became  confidential,  and  for  the  first 
time  told  the  full  story  of  their  recent  host.  Years 
before,  the  Englishman  had  arrived  in  Mexico  and 
bought  this  plantation.  He  was  a  young  man  then 


126  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

and  single.  He  never  went  home.  It  seems  that 
he  had  absconded  from  a  shipping  firm  in  Liver 
pool  where  he  was  employed  and  had  taken  ten 
thousand  pounds.  Later  he  married  a  Mexican 
woman  of  good  family  and  had  prospered. 

"But  he  never  leaves  the  country.  The  woman 
and  the  girls  go  —  the  son  is  being  educated  in  the 
States  —  but  the  old  man  has  never  been  beyond 
the  line." 

"It  must  be  hard  on  them  —  the  girls,"  Brainard 
said. 

"What  do  they  care  ?  Harlow  is  rich  and  re 
spected  in  this  country.  The  women  are  Mexi 
can,  though  the  girls  have  been  well  educated.  It 
was  a  long  time  ago  when  he  took  the  money,  and 
as  you  see  he  lives  like  a  perfect  gentleman  with 
his  own  wife  and  family.  There  are  a  good  many 
citizens  here  who  have  better  antecedents  than 
Harlow  and  aren't  as  respectable." 

He  looked  suddenly  at  Brainard.  The  young 
man  did  not  reply.  He  was  thinking  that  even  if 
the  Englishman  had  been  a  thief,  there  was  no 
reason  why  he  should  not  like  the  daughter,  — 
yes,  and  visit  the  Hagienda  di  Rosas,  if  he  so  de 
sired  !  He  supposed  that  Galloway  had  told  him 
Harlow's  story  for  a  purpose. 

"After  you  have  lived  here  awhile,"  the  South 
erner  continued,  "you  don't  ask  questions  about 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  127 

newcomers,  so  long  as  they  play  fair  and  don't  try 
to  borrow  money  of  you.  Live  and  let  live  — 
that's  a  good  motto,  young  man.  You  never  can 
tell  when  you  will  need  the  same  charity  for  your 
self  that  you  hand  out  to  another  fellow  !" 

That  philosophy  seemed  a  bit  specious,  and 
Brainard  felt  an  instinctive  repugnance  to  the 
morals  of  his  new  acquaintances.  He  suspected 
that  the  Southerner  might  have  his  own  story, 
which  would  explain  why  he  was  living  a  lonely 
old  age  so  far  from  his  native  Alabama.  Hollinger 
added  nothing  to  the  conversation.  It  was  a 
somewhat  delicate  subject  with  him  also.  But 
all  the  young  man's  chivalry  rose  in  behalf  of  the 
little  Mexican  girl.  This  was  the  reason  why 
young  Americans  never  wrote  and  never  came 
back  !  Well,  he  would  show  her  that  there  was 
one  who  had  the  courage  to  forget  that  her  father 
was  an  embezzler. 

When  they  reached  the  hotel  Galloway  said 
good  night  and  went  to  his  room.  Brainard  was 
about  to  follow  him  when  Hollinger  yawningly 
suggested  having  a  drink  of  pulque. 

"Ever  tried  it?  It's  not  so  bad;  like] the  sort 
of  yeast  mother  used  to  make  out  of  potatoes," 
and  as  Brainard  demurred,  he  said  more  urgently, 
"Oh,  come  on  !  If  you're  going  to  live  on  a 
Mexican  hacienda,  better  get  acquainted  with  the 


128  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

national  drink  —  though  that  was  pretty  good 
claret  the  Englishman  put  up." 

They  went  across  the  way  to  a  cafe  that  was 
still  open  and  ordered  pulque.  Brainard,  after 
tasting  the  sirupy,  yeasty  stuff  put  his  glass  down 
with  a  grimace.  Hollinger  drained  his  and 
ordered  another. 

"All  you  have  to  do  with  most  things  is  to  get 
used  to  'em.  The  question  is,"  he  added,  look 
ing  meaningly  at  Brainard,  "whether  you  want 
to  get  used  to  'em  !  .  .  .  Young  man,"  he  re 
marked,  as  they  turned  back  to  the  hotel,  "I 
don't  want  to  butt  into  your  business  —  I  am  not 
that  kind.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  travel 
ing  for  your  health,  the  same  as  I  am,  or  for  some 
other  fellow's  health.  But,  in  any  case,  — "  here 
his  voice  became  quietly  emphatic,  "all  is,  if 
you've  got  a  job  to  do,  do  it !  Whether  it's  crack 
ing  a  safe  or  running  a  city  mission,  my  young 
friend,  go  at  it  and  finish  with  it." 

Brainard  threw  up  his  head  with  all  the  haughti 
ness  of  the  young  man  who  considers  that  he  has 
thus  far  done  very  well  without  outside  assistance. 

"Just  cut  out  any  woman  business  until  the 
job's  done,"  Hollinger  continued.  "Women  are 
likely  to  upset  most  business  —  they  distract  the 
mind,  you  know.  Pardon  me  for  calling  your 
attention  to  the  fact  that  you  seem  still  young  and 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  129 

somewhat  inexperienced  in  life,  in  spite  of  your 
achievements.  Have  you  fully  made  up  your 
mind  to  join  the  exiles  down  here  for  good  and 
all  ?  Better  think  it  over  first  far  away  from  the 
senorita's  eyes,  out  at  sea.  .  .  .  Well,  here  endeth 
the  first  lesson,  and  good  night,  and  pleasant 
dreams  !" 

"Good  night !"  Brainard  replied  stuffily. 

The  porter  handed  them  both  candles,  and  by 
way  of  ingratiating  himself  with  his  generous 
patrons  announced  that  two  more  gringos  had 
arrived  late  that  afternoon.  Brainard,  who  was 
smarting  under  the  fight-trust  magnate's  moral 
advice,  paid  little  attention  to  the  servant's  chatter 
and  went  directly  to  his  room.  He  undressed 
slowly,  thinking  of  the  charming  girl  at  the 
Hagienda  di  Rosas  and  the  happy  day  he  had  spent 
with  her.  Hollinger's  frank  warning  to  get  to  his 
"job"  and  let  women  alone  rankled  all  the  more 
because  he  felt  the  good  sense  of  it.  But  some 
thing  within  him  tempted  him  to  rebel  at  good 
sense.  He  was  young,  and  he  had  been  through  a 
series  of  strenuous  weeks,  living  a  lonely,  rough 
life.  There  seemed  nothing  unpardonably  weak 
in  allowing  himself  a  bit  of  good  time  here  in  this 
lovely  place.  Of  course  Hollinger's  idea  that  he 
would  straightway  marry  the  embezzler's  daughter 
and  settle  down  in  Jalapa  for  life  was  needlessly 


130  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

exaggerated.  Probably  there  would  be  another 
steamer  in  less  than  a  month.  And  so  forth,  as 
youth  under  such  circumstances  reasons  with 
itself  ! 

Continuing  this  debate  he  went  out  to  the  bal 
cony  for  a  last  look  at  the  beautiful  moonlight 
night.  He  lingered  there,  charmed  by  the  still 
ness  of  the  deserted  streets,  by  the  soft  scented 
air,  by  the  beauty  of  the  white  peak  towering 
into  the  southern  heavens.  The  pleasant  murmur 
of  the  girl's  voice  sounded  in  his  ears.  He  was 
not  in  love,  he  said  to  himself,  —  that  would  be 
quite  ridiculous  !  But  he  was,  without  knowing 
it,  in  a  state  where  a  young  man  soon  thinks  him 
self  into  love. 

All  his  experience  since  leaving  New  York  led 
up,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  this  very  state.  Senorita 
Marie  need  not  be  so  extraordinarily  fascinating, 
nor  Jalapa  so  wonderfully  picturesque,  to  set  the 
stage  for  the  eternal  drama.  He  was  just  re 
peating  to  himself  one  of  the  girl's  naive  remarks 
when  he  became  conscious  of  low  voices  above 
him.  English  was  being  spoken,  and  by  a  woman. 
He  remembered  what  the  porter  had  said  about 
new  arrivals  at  the  hotel,  and  strained  his  ears  to 
hear  what  was  said.  But  the  speaker  was  evi 
dently  seated  within  the  room  overhead,  and  her 
voice  was  too  low  to  reach  out  and  down  with 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  131 

any  distinctness.  There  was  something  in  the 
timbre  of  it,  or  the  accent,  that  seemed  to  Brainard 
familiar,  —  perhaps  nothing  more  than  its  Amer 
icanism.  A  man's  voice,  rather  guttural  and 
entirely  unfamiliar,  broke  in  on  the  woman's 
speech.  The  man  must  be  standing  nearer  the 
balcony,  for  Brainard  could  hear  distinctly  what 
he  said. 

"I  don't  see  how  Mossy  let  him  slip  through  his 
fingers  in  Mexico  City,  do  you  ?" 

An  unintelligible  answer  came  from  within  the 
room. 

"Anyway,  it  was  clear  luck  our  stopping  off 
here  to  send  that  wire." 

And  then  suddenly  in  perfectly  distinct  though 
low  tones  came  the  sentence : 

"You  didn't  see  the  grip  ?" 

Brainard  knew  that  voice !  The  pert,  crisp 
twist  to  the  words  might  resemble  a  thousand  other 
stenographers  in  style,  but  he  knew  only  one  that 
hissed  her  final  words  slightly.  He  held  his  breath 
and  listened.  The  woman  came  out  on  the  bal 
cony,  and  Brainard  noiselessly  glided  back  into 
the  shadow  of  his  dark  room.  He  had  seen  the 
profile  of  the  figure  above  and  knew  beyond  doubt 
that  she  was  Krutzmacht's  former  stenographer. 
The  man  said : 

"I    wish    I    knew    which    way    he    meant    to 


132  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

jump  next.      He's  just  fool   enough   to  go  back 
North." 

"We'll  get  him,  either  way,"  the  woman  replied 
with  a  snap  and  retreated  into  the  room,  closing 
the  French  window. 


XV 


BRAINARD  stood  without  moving  until  his  mus 
cles  ached.  Then  he  dropped  to  the  floor,  crawled 
over  to  the  bed,  and  felt  beneath  the  bolster,  where 
he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  conceal  his  bag 
when  he  had  left  that  morning.  It  was  still  there. 
The  room  had  been  casually  searched,  or  possibly 
his  pursuers  had  only  just  arrived  by  a  delayed 
train. 

At  any  rate,  he  had  until  the  next  morning. 
The  woman  and  her  companion  would  not  be 
likely  to  make  a  disturbance  that  night,  feeling 
that  they  had  him  and  his  plunder  safe  within 
grasp.  They  knew  as  well  as  he  that  all  escape 
from  Jalapa  was  impossible  before  the  early  morn 
ing  train  for  the  North.  It  must  be  said  that  from 
the  moment  Brainard  first  heard  the  stenographer's 
voice,  every  thought  of  Seriorita  Marie  and  of  the 
Hagienda  di  Rosas  dropped  from  his  mind.  Dan 
ger  was  a  panacea  for  the  early  symptoms  of  love  ! 

While  he  thought,  Brainard  took  off  his  shoes, 
tied  them  together  by  the  laces,  and  slung  them 
around  his  neck,  as  he  had  done  as  a  boy,  when  he 
wished  to  make  an  early  escape  from  the  parental 

133 


134  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

house.  Then,  placing  his  precious  bag  on  his 
shoulders,  he  crept  inch  by  inch  toward  the  open 
window.  It  was  hazardous,  but  it  was  his  only 
chance.  He  was  morally  certain  that  he  could 
not  enter  the  hall  without  making  sufficient  noise 
to  attract  attention. 

When  he  reached  the  balcony,  he  listened. 
Not  hearing  any  sound  from  the  next  room,  he 
stepped  out  into  the  moonlight,  and  walked  as 
rapidly  as  he  could  along  the  open  balcony  to  the 
corner  of  the  building,  and  around  to  the  other 
side.  He  knew  that  the  fight-trust  man's  room 
was  somewhere  in  the  rear  wing,  and  his  plan 
was  to  make  an  exit  through  his  room.  But  the 
balcony  did  not  extend  to  this  wing,  and  he  was 
brought  to  a  halt.  He  looked  over  the  rail  to  the 
street,  thinking  to  drop  his  bag  and  follow  it  as 
best  he  could.  It  was  a  good  fifteen  feet  from 
the  balcony  to  the  hard  pavement  beneath.  As 
Brainard  debated  the  chances  of  breaking  a  leg, 
he  saw  approaching  the  spot  the  figure  of  a  night 
officer  on  his  rounds.  Instinctively  he  drew  back, 
felt  for  the  nearest  window,  and  pushed  it  open. 
He  prayed  that  it  might  be  an  empty  room ;  but 
he  was  no  sooner  within  than  he  heard  the  loud 
snoring  of  a  man. 

Perplexed,  Brainard  listened  for  a  few  moments, 
then  quietly  crossed  to  the  bed.  Feeling  about 


HIS,  GREAT   ADVENTURE  135 

over  the  night  table,  he  secured  the  pistol  that  he 
suspected  might  lie  there,  then  boldly  struck  a 
match.  With  a  snort,  the  sleeper  sat  bolt  upright. 
Luckily  it  was  Galloway,  the  manager  of  the  rail 
road.  Brainard  whispered  tensely : 

"It's  all  right,  but  don't  speak !  There's  your 
gun  —  only  don't  shoot !" 

"What's  the  matter?"  the  Southerner  de 
manded  coolly,  now  wide  awake. 

"You  said,"  Brainard  whispered,  "that  there 
was  always  a  time  when  a  man  might  need  charity. 
Well,  I  want  your  help.  I  have  a  bag  here  that 
contains  valuable  papers  belonging  to  some  other 
person.  I'm  trying  to  get  them  to  a  safe  place,  as 
I  was  told  to.  I  haven't  stolen  anything,  you 
understand,  but  of  course  you  won't  believe  that. 
I've  been  followed  here  by  some  enemies  of  the 
man  who  owned  the  stuff.  They'd  kill  me  as 
quickly  as  they  would  a  fly  to  get  possession  of 
this  bag.  If  they  can't  murder  me,  and  take  it 
that  way,  they  will  probably  put  me  in  prison  to 
morrow  and  keep  me  there.  I  must  get  out  of 
town  to-night !" 

"You  can't  do  that  before  to-morrow  morning," 
the  Southerner  replied,  yawning,  as  if  he  wished 
Brainard  would  take  himself  off  to  bed  and  let  him 
alone. 

"I  must  get  out  of  this  hotel  now,  to-night,  and 


136  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

away  from  Jalapa,  and  not  have  a  soul  know  where 
Fve  gone.  I'll  pay  you  well  for  your  trouble  !" 

"Keep  your  money,  my  son,"  the  man  answered 
gruffly.  "It  wasn't  for  that  I  had  to  come  down 
here.  But  I'll  help  you  out,  if  you  are  in  trouble." 

He  reflected  yawningly  for  a  few  moments,  while 
Brainard  held  his  breath  with  impatience.  For 
all  he  knew,  the  man  and  the  woman  might  al 
ready  have  entered  his  room  and  discovered  his 
flight. 

"If  it  were  daylight,  it  would  be  different,  but 
you  know  I  couldn't  start  a  train  out  of  here  at 
this  time  without  the  whole  town  knowing  about 
it ;  and  I  reckon  that  isn't  what  you  want." 

"Not  much!" 

"Can't  you  bunk  here  with  me  until  morning  ? 
Then  Hollinger  and  I  can  fix  up  something." 

Brainard  shook  his  head. 

"I'd  run  you  down  myself  in  an  engine  to  the 
coast  — " 

"That's  it!" 

"But  there  isn't  an  engine  that  can  turn  a 
wheel  in  the  place.  The  first  train  comes  up  in 
the  morning." 

"I  might  get  a  horse  and  go  over  to  the 
hagienda,"  Brainard  suggested. 

The  Southerner  scratched  his  sleepy  head  for  a 
while. 


HIS  GREAT   ADVENTURE  137 

"You  might,"  he  admitted.  "But  that 
wouldn't  put  you  out  of  your  trouble  and  might 
put  other  folks  into  danger.  You  want  to  lose 
these  urgent  friends  of  yours  for  good." 

"That's  so." 

"Got  some  nerve  ?" 

"Enough  to  capture  this  stuff  from  a  court  and 
tote  it  'cross  country  from  Frisco  !"  He  patted 
his  valise. 

"Come  on,  then!" 

The  Southerner  drew  on  his  trousers  and  boots. 
As  Brainard  turned  impatiently  toward  the  door, 
he  said : 

"Not  that  way!" 

He  pulled  back  a  hanging  at  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
revealing  a  little  wooden  door,  which  he  opened, 
and,  candle  in  hand,  led  the  way  through  a  close, 
dusty  passage.  After  making  several  turns,  they 
descended  a  flight  of  narrow  stairs,  and  Brainard's 
guide  pushed  open  a  door  at  the  bottom.  The 
musty  odor  of  old  incense  told  him  that  they  had 
entered  a  church,  and  the  wavering  candle-light 
partially  revealed  the  statues  of  the  saints  and  the 
altars  of  the  chapels. 

"The  cathedral,"  the  Southerner  remarked,  and 
added,  "Convenient  sometimes!  " 

Brainard  followed  him  closely  across  the  nave 
of  the  church  to  a  door,  which  Calloway  unbolted 


138  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

after  some  fumbling.  They  emerged  upon  a  nar 
row  lane  with  blank  walls  on  either  side. 

"That  hotel  used  to  be  the  bishop's  palace," 
the  Southerner  explained.  "It's  a  pretty  handy 
place  to  get  out  of  on  the  quiet,  if  you  know  the 
way!" 

It  was  only  a  short  distance  to  the  railroad  ter 
minal.  Galloway  walked  rapidly  and  noiselessly 
on  the  toes  of  his  boots,  and  kept  to  the  dark  side 
of  the  lane.  They  entered  the  yards  beyond  the 
station  building,  and  went  to  the  farther  end, 
where  several  tracks  were  occupied  by  antiquated 
coaches  that  looked  like  a  cross  between  open 
street  cars  and  English  third-class  railway  car 
riages. 

"We  used  these  rattletraps  before  they  changed 
the  line  to  steam.  It  took  six  mules  to  haul  one  of 
'em  up  from  the  junction  of  the  Mexico  and  Vera 
Cruz  road ;  but  they  can  go  down  flying !  It's 
down  grade  all  the  way  for  nearly  forty  miles. 
They  are  rather  wabbly  now,  but  if  you  get  one 
with  a  good  brake,  it  will  last  the  trip." 

He  tried  several  of  the  old  cars,  and  finally 
.selected  one  with  a  brake  that  worked  to  his 
satisfaction.  Together  they  could  just  start  it, 
and  they  pushed  it  out  to  the  main  track.  Brain- 
ard  threw  his  valise  aboard,  and  took  his  post,  as 
the  railroad  man  directed  him,  at  the  handbrake. 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  139 

"I'll  open  the  gate  for  you,  and  set  the  switch; 
then  it's  clear  sailing.  Go  slow  until  you  learn 
the  trick,  then  let  her  sail.  There's  a  bad  curve 
about  seven  miles  out,  and  a  couple  of  miles 
farther  on  you'll  find  a  considerable  hill  and  some 
up  grade.  You  must  let  her  slide  down  the  hill 
for  all  she  can  do,  and  take  the  grade  on  her  own 
momentum.  If  you  don't,  you  may  get  stuck. 
I  can't  think  of  anything  else.  You'll  roll  down 
to  the  junction  in  a  couple  of  hours,  as  pretty  as 
coasting,  if  that  confounded  peon  hasn't  left  the 
switch  open  at  Cavallo.  If  he  has,  you'll  just 
have  to  jump  for  it,  and  foot  it  down  through  the 
chaparral,  if  you  haven't  broken  your  neck. 
Needn't  bother  to  return  the  car,"  he  chuckled. 
"Is  .there  anything  else  I  can  do  for  you,  young 
man?" 

"You've  got  me  out  of  a  tight  hole,"  Brainard 
replied  warmly,  "and  I  can't  begin  to  thank  you 
for  it.  I  hope  I  shall  see  you  up  North  some  day, 
and  be  able  to  do  something  for  you  ! " 

"It  isn't  likely  we'll  meet  in  the  States.  They 
don't  want  me  up  there!"  the  Southerner  an 
swered  slowly.  "But  perhaps,  sometime,  you'll 
be  able  to  help  a  poor  fellow  out  of  his  hole  in  the 
same  way." 

"That  woman  may  strike  the  scent,  and  come 
hot-foot  to  Vera  Cruz  by  the  first  train.  Well, 


140  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

I'll  have  to  take  my  chances  there  before  the  boat 
sails." 

"Leave  her  to  me  and  Hollinger.  We'll  give 
her  a  tip  that  you  have  gone  North."  Galloway 
laughed.  "If  she  won't  take  it,  there  are  other 
ways  of  stopping  her  activity.  There's  a  good 
deal  of  smallpox  hereabouts,  you  know,  and  if 
the  mayor  suspected  these  gringos  had  the 
disease,  he'd  chuck  'em  into  the  pesthouse. 
Don  Salvador  does  pretty  much  what  I  tell  him 
—  and  the  hotel-keeper,  too.  I  think  we  can  keep 
your  friends  quiet." 

"Get  me  twelve  hours,  if  you  can  !  And  tell 
Hollinger  I'm  on  the  job  again." 

The  two  men  shook  hands;  Galloway  pushed 
back  the  great  gate;  and  the  car  slid  down  the 
track  out  into  the  warm,  black  night,  groaning  to 
itself  asthmatically  as  it  gathered  impetus. 


XVI 

THE  Transatlantique  line  steamer  Toulouse  lay 
off  the  breakwater  of  Vera  Cruz,  smoking  fiercely, 
anchor  up,  passengers  all  aboard,  ready  to  sail  for 
Havre.  Her  departure  had  been  delayed  nearly 
eighteen  hours  by  a  fierce  "norther,"  which  had 
not  yet  exhausted  its  fury.  They  had  been  anx 
ious  hours  for  Brainard,  who  had  gone  aboard 
the  night  before,  in  the  expectation  of  sailing  im 
mediately.  Now  the  black  smoke  pouring  from 
the  funnel  indicated  that  the  captain  had  decided 
to  proceed,  and  Brainard's  spirits  rose. 

Nothing  had  been  seen  or  heard  of  the  stenog 
rapher  and  her  companion.  Either  they  had 
lost  the  trail,  or  his  friends  at  Jalapa  had  suc 
ceeded  in  holding  them  there  for  almost  two  days, 
and  had  kept  them  away  from  the  telegraph,  too. 

Brainard  was  about  to  leave  the  deck,  where  he 
had  been  anxiously  watching  the  land,  when  his 
attention  was  caught  by  a  small  launch  that  was 
rounding  the  end  of  the  pier  and  heading  for  the 
steamer.  His  hands  tightened  on  the  rail;  he 
suspected  what  that  launch  might  contain.  He 

141 


142  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

noted  that  the  steamer  was  moving  slowly. 
Would  the  captain  wait  ? 

The  Toulouse  had  swung  around ;  her  nose 
pointed  out  into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  her 
screw  revolved  at  quarter  speed.  The  launch 
approached  rapidly,  and  signaled  the  steamer  to 
wait.  Brainard  could  see  the  smart  French  cap 
tain,  on  the  bridge  above,  examining  the  small 
boat  through  glasses.  He  himself  could  detect 
two  figures  in  the  bow,  waving  a  flag,  and  he 
smiled  grimly  at  the  comedy  about  to  take  place 
at  his  expense. 

The  screw  ceased  to  revolve.  As  the  launch 
came  within  hailing  distance,  there  was  an  ani 
mated  colloquy  in  French  between  the  officers  on 
the  bridge  of  the  Toulouse  and  the  man  in  charge 
of  the  launch. 

"Some  late  passengers,"  remarked  the  third 
officer,  who  was  standing  beside  Brainard.  "A 
woman,  too  !" 

Apparently  neither  the  stenographer  —  for  now 
he  could  recognize  the  young  woman  —  nor  her 
companion,  a  stout,  middle-aged,  red-cheeked 
American,  understood  the  French  language.  They 
kept  gesticulating  and  pointing  to  Brainard, 
whom  they  had  discovered  on  the  deck.  The 
captain  of  the  launch  translated  their  remarks,  and 
threw  in  some  explanations  of  his  own.  The 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  143 

officers  from  the  bridge  of  the  Toulouse  fired  back 
vigorous  volleys  of  questions.  It  was  an  uproar  ! 

Brainard,  in  spite  of  his  predicament,  burst 
into  laughter  over  the  frantic  endeavors  of  the 
two  Americans  to  make  themselves  understood. 
The  captain  tried  his  English,  but  with  poor  re 
sults.  Finally,  with  a  gesture  of  disgust,  he 
yanked  the  bell  rope.  Brainard  could  hear  the 
gong  sound  in  the  engine  room  beneath  for  full 
speed.  The  Toulouse  would  not  wait. 

The  steamer  began  to  gather  speed,  the  launch 
to  fall  behind,  while  the  woman  at  the  bow  shrieked 
and  pointed  to  Brainard.  The  captain  of  the 
Toulouse  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
walked  to  the  other  side  of  his  vessel. 

"Some  friends  of  yours  ?"  the  third  officer  said 
to  Brainard,  with  a  grin,  as  the  little  launch  fell 
into  their  wake  and  finally  turned  back  toward 
the  inner  harbor.  "The  lady  seemed  anxious  to 
join  you  —  might  be  a  wife,  non?" 

Apparently  he  knew  enough  English  to  enable 
him  to  conjecture  what  the  two  Americans  wanted. 
If,  thought  Brainard,  the  captain  had  known  as 
much  English  as  his  third  officer,  it  might  not  have 
gone  so  happily  for  him  ! 

"The  lady  isn't  exactly  my  wife,"  Brainard  re 
plied^  with  a  laugh;  "not  yet !" 

"Ah!"  the  Frenchman  said,  with  a  meaning 


144  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

smile.  "What  you  in  the  States  call  a  breach  of 
the  promise  ?" 

"Exactly!"  Brainard  replied  hastily,  glad  to 
accept  such  a  credible  fiction. 

"She  seems  sorry  to  let  you  make  the  journey 
alone,  eh?" 

"Rather!" 

The  story  circulated  on  the  ship  that  evening, 
and  gave  Brainard  a  jocular  notoriety  in  the 
smoking  room  among  the  German  and  French 
business  men,  who  composed  most  of  the  Toulouse  s 
first-cabin  list.  It  was  forgotten,  however,  before 
he  emerged  from  his  cabin,  to  which  the  remains 
of  the  "norther"  had  quickly  driven  him.  By 
this  time  —  it  was  the  fourth  day  out  —  the 
Toulouse  was  in  the  grasp  of  the  Gulf  Stream, 
lazily  plowing  her  twelve  knots  an  hour  into  the 
North  Atlantic,  and  the  passengers  were  betting 
their  francs  on  the  probable  day  of  arrival  at 
Havre. 

That  evening,  at  dinner,  Brainard  ordered  a 
bottle  of  champagne,  and  murmured,  as  he  raised 
the  glass  to  his  lips  : 

"Here's  to  Melody  —  whoever  and  whatever 
and  wherever  she  may  be!" 

His  youthful  fancy,  warmed  by  the  wine,  played 
again  with  the  idea  of  an  unknown  mistress  for 
whom  he  was  bound  across  the  seas  with  her  for- 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  145 

tune  in  his  grip.  With  the  insistence  of  youth, 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  Melody  must  be  a 
woman  —  what  else  could  she  be  ?  He  always 
saw  her  as  a  young  woman,  charming,  beautiful, 
of  course,  and  free  ! 

And  yet  she  might  well  be  some  aged  relative  of 
Krutzmacht,  or  a  fair  friend  of  his  youth,  to  whom, 
in  the  moment  of  decision  allowed  him,  he  had 
desired  to  leave  his  fortune ;  or  some  unrecognized 
wife,  to  whom,  at  the  threshold  of  death,  he 
thought  to  do  tardy  justice. 

"An  old  hag,  perhaps  !"  the  young  man  mur 
mured  with  a  grimace.  "  We'll  see  —  over  there  ! " 

But  his  buoyant  fancy  refused  to  vision  this 
elusive  Melody  as  other  than  young  and  beautiful. 
And  he  gave  her  the  attractive  shape  and  per 
sonality  of  Senorita  Marie.  He  began  to  think  of 
her  as  living  in  some  obscure  corner  of  the  great 
world,  waiting  to  be  dowered  with  the  fortune 
that  he  had  bravely  rescued  for  her. 

When  Brainard  felt  that  his  stomach  and  his 
sea  legs  were  both  impeccable,  he  descended  to  his 
cabin,  bolted  the  door,  pulled  the  shade  carefully 
over  the  porthole,  pinned  newspapers  above  the 
wooden  partitions,  and  proceeded  to  make  a 
leisurely  examination  of  the  valise.  It  was  the 
first  safe  moment  that  he  had  had  to  go  through 
the  contents  of  the  bag  thoroughly;  and  when 


146  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

the  key  sank  into  the  lock,  his  curiosity  was 
whetted  to  a  fine  edge. 

He  had  already  made  a  careful  count  of  the  notes 
and  gold  left  after  his  devious  journey  to  Vera  Cruz. 
The  sum  was  eight  thousand  dollars  and  some  hun 
dreds.  This  he  had  entered  on  a  blank  leaf  in  a 
little  diary,  under  the  heading  "Melody,  Cr." 
On  the  opposite  page  he  had  put  down  all  the  sums 
that  he  remembered  to  have  spent  since  leaving 
New  York,  even  to  his  cigarettes  and  the  bottle  of 
champagne  which  he  had  drunk  in  honor  of  his 
unknown  mistress. 

"Here  goes  !"  he  said  at  last.  "Let's  see  what 
Melody's  pile  is,  anyway." 

It  took  the  best  part  of  the  night  to  examine 
thoroughly  what  the  bag  held.  Even  after  he  had 
gone  over  every  piece,  Brainard,  untrained  in 
business  matters,  could  but  guess  at  the  full  im 
portance  of  his  haul.  There  were  contracts  and 
deeds  and  leases  relating  to  a  network  of  corpora 
tions,  of  which  the  most  important,  apparently, 
was  the  Pacific  Northern  Railway. 

Despairing  of  understanding  the  full  value  of 
these  documents  without  some  clew,  Brainard 
contented  himself  with  making  a  careful  inventory 
of  them.  The  meat  of  the  lot,  he  judged,  lay  in 
certain  bundles  of  neatly  engraved  five-per-cent 
bonds  of  the  Pacific  Northern,  together  with  a 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  147 

number  of  certificates  of  stock  in  the  Shasta  Com 
pany.  In  all,  as  he  calculated,  there  were  eight 
millions  of  bonds  and  fifteen  millions,  par  value,  of 
stock. 

"Melody  doesn't  look  to  me  to  be  a  poor  lady," 
Brainard  muttered,  bundling  up  the  bonds  and 
stock,  and  packing  them  carefully  away  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valise.  "They  are  welcome  to  the 
rest,  if  they'll  let  me  off  with  these  pretty  things  !" 

What  was  more,  he  had  come  across  the  name 
of  Schneider  Brothers,  bankers,  Berlin,  on  the 
letterhead  of  several  communications,  indicating 
that  they  had  been  the  dead  man's  foreign  fiscal 
agents.  That  would  be  of  use  to  him,  he  noted, 
as  he  wrote  the  name  in  his  little  diary.  Then  he 
went  on  deck,  lighted  a  long  Mexican  cigar,  and 
began  to  think.  The  value  of  his  haul  made  him 
very  serious.  Latterly  his  adventure  had  more 
or  less  the  irresponsibility  of  a  boy's  lark  about  it, 
but  now  it  assumed  larger  importance.  What  he 
had  done  was  a  serious  matter  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law,  and  he  must  justify  his  proceedings,  not  only 
to  himself,  but  to  others.  .  .  . 

The  days  of  the  lazy,  sunny  voyage  slipped 
away.  As  the  vessel  drew  nearer  Europe,  Brain 
ard  speculated  more  and  more  anxiously  on  what 
might  be  waiting  for  him  on  the  dock  at  Havre. 
Now  that  he  knew  how  valuable  his  loot  was,  he 


148  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

felt  certain  that  old  Krutzmacht's  San  Francisco 
enemies,  who  had  tracked  him  to  the  dock  at  Vera 
Cruz,  would  hardly  be  idle  during  the  sixteen  days 
that  the  Toulouse  had  taken  to  cross  the  seas. 
There  had  been  ample  time  for  them  to  hear  from 
the  stenographer  and  their  other  agents  in  Mexico, 
to  communicate  with  the  French  authorities,  to 
have  detectives  cross  from  New  York  by  one  of 
the  express  boats  and  meet  him  at  Havre.  There 
would  be  a  fine  reception  committee  prepared  for 
him  on  the  dock  ! 

Cudgel  his  brains  as  he  might,  hour  after  hour, 
he  could  see  no  way  out  of  the  predicament  that 
was  daily  drawing  nearer.  After  the  incident  at 
Vera  Cruz,  he  could  not  approach  any  of  the  officers 
of  the  vessel  and  seek  to  enlist  their  help.  He 
thought  of  bribing  the  sociable  third  officer  to 
secrete  the  contents  of  his  valise,  but  he  mistrusted 
his  volatile  temperament.  There  was  a  French 
woman  who  sat  next  him  at  the  table,  a  dark- 
haired  little  person,  clever  and  businesslike,  who 
had  been  very  agreeable  to  Brainard,  and  had 
undertaken  to  teach  him  French.  He  could  tell 
his  story  to  Mme.  Vernon,  and  ask  her  to  assume 
charge  of  the  troublesome  valise.  But  an  in 
stinctive  caution  restrained  him  from  taking  any 
one  into  his  confidence.  He  preferred  to  run  his 
chance  of  arrest,  and  to  fight  against  extradition. 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  149 

Whenever  he  resigned  himself  to  this  prospect,  his 
sporting  blood  rebelled,  and  there  rose,  also,  a 
new  sentiment  of  loyalty  to  the  interests  of  his 
unknown  mistress,  Melody.  He  had  come  too 
far  in  his  venture  to  be  beaten  now  ! 

"Whether  the  old  man  was  straight  or  not, 
whether  he  really  owned  the  bunch  of  bonds  and 
stock  or  not,  it  would  be  a  pity  not  to  get  some 
thing  out  of  it  for  Melody.  She's  not  in  the 
scrap,"  he  said  to  himself.  "No,  I  don't  chuck 
the  game  yet !" 

His  anxieties  were  quieted  by  another  fit  of  sea 
sickness  on  the  day  before  they  were  due  to  arrive 
at  Havre.  As  she  approached  the  coast  of  Brit 
tany,  the  Toulouse  lost  the  balmy  weather  which 
had  prevailed  since  they  entered  the  Gulf  Stream, 
and  ran  straight  into  a  gale  that  was  sweeping 
over  the  boisterous  Bay  of  Biscay.  Brainard 
went  to  bed,  to  spend  altogether  the  most  wretched 
twenty -four  hours  he  had  ever  experienced. 

In  his  more  conscious  moments  he  gathered 
that  the  old  Toulouse  was  having  as  hard  a  time 
with  the  weather  as  he  was.  Her  feeble  engines 
at  last  lay  down  on  the  job,  and  the  captain  was 
forced  to  turn  about  and  run  before  the  storm. 
It  mattered  little  to  Brainard,  just  then,  whether 
the  ship  was  blown  to  the  Azores,  or  went  to  the 
bottom,  or  carried  him  into  Havre,  there  to  be 


150  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

arrested  and  finally  deported  to  the  United 
States  for  grand  larceny.  He  turned  in  his  berth, 
thought  of  the  Bourgogne,  and  closed  his  weary  eyes. 

Toward  evening  the  gale  blew  itself  out,  and 
the  battered  old  Toulouse  was  headed  north  once 
more  across  the  Bay  of  Biscay.  Sometime  in 
the  night  the  engines  ceased  to  thump,  and  Brain- 
ard  awoke  with  a  start.  When  he  had  hurried 
into  his  clothes,  and  groped  his  way  to  the  deck, 
he  was  astonished  to  see  ahead,  through  the  gray 
fog  of  early  morning,  faint  lights  and,  farther 
away,  the  stronger  illumination  that  came  from 
some  city. 

"Is  it  Havre  ?"  he  demanded  of  the  third  officer, 
whom  he  met. 

"No,  monsieur  —  St.  Nazaire!"  the  French 
man  answered.  "  Monsieur  will  be  disappointed  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  so  !"  exclaimed  Brainard. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  port  of  Nantes.  The  cap 
tain  had  not  chosen  to  risk  the  voyage  around  the 
stormy  coast  of  Brittany  with  his  depleted  coal 
supply,  and  had  taken  the  old  Toulouse  to  the 
nearest  port. 

"Here's  where  Melody  scores  !"  Brainard  mut 
tered,  when  he  realized  the  significance  of  the 
news.  "Now  for  a  quick  exit  to  Paris,  before  the 
telegraph  gets  in  its  deadly  work  and  notifies  the 
civilized  world  where  we  are  !" 


XVII 

THREE  hours  later  the  passengers  of  the  Toulouse 
were  aboard  a  special  train  for  Paris,  and  in  a 
first-class  compartment  Brainard  was  seated,  fac 
ing  his  valise,  and  looking  out  upon  the  pleasant 
landscape  of  the  Loire  valley,  a  contented  ex 
pression  on  his  brown  young  face. 

He  had  already  formulated  to  himself  the  exact 
plot  of  his  movements  from  the  moment  he 
reached  Paris.  From  the  pleasant  Frenchwoman 
who  had  been  his  neighbor  at  the  ship's  table  he 
had  learned  the  address  of  a  little  hotel  in  the 
Bourse  quarter,  where  she  assured  him  that 
Americans  rarely  appeared.  It  was  not  far  from 
the  large  bank  in  which  he  intended  to  deposit 
Melody's  burdensome  fortune  until  he  could 
make  arrangements  for  disposing  of  it. 

It  did  not  take  him  long,  therefore,  to  install 
himself  at  the  little  Hotel  des  Voyageurs  et  Bresil, 
and  to  rid  himself  of  his  troublesome  loot.  Then 
he  wrote  a  letter  to  Schneider  Brothers,  of  Berlin, 
who,  he  had  learned  at  the  Credit  Lyonnais, 
were  a  well-known  firm  of  bankers  with  an  agency 
in  New  York.  He  wrote  the  Messrs.  Schneider 

151 


152  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

that  in  obedience  to  the  instructions  of  the  late 
Mr.  Herbert  Krutzmacht,  of  San  Francisco,  he 
wished  to  consult  with  them  in  regard  to  the  dis 
posal  of  some  securities  that  he  had  in  his  posses 
sion.  He  would  remain  for  the  present  in  Paris, 
and  he  begged  to  suggest  that  the  bankers  should 
send  a  responsible  agent  to  meet  him  at  some 
place  —  preferably  The  Hague,  whither  he  was 
going  the  following  week. 

He  had  selected  The  Hague  as  a  safe  middle 
ground,  after  consulting  the  map  of  Europe  in 
his  guidebook. 

"That  will  draw  their  fire,"  he  thought  com 
placently.  "We  shall  see  on  which  side  of  the 
game  they  are  !" 

Having  mailed  the  letter,  he  strolled  out  to  the 
boulevards  to  enjoy  his  first  whiff  of  Paris.  This 
was  the  city  that  he  had  walked  in  his  dreams  ! 
He  had  never  hoped  to  see  it;  but  now  he  was 
strolling  along  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  and 
there  before  his  eyes  lay  the  great  Place  de  1'Opera, 
with  its  maze  of  automobiles,  'buses,  and  pedes 
trians.  And  there  —  Brainard  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  the  crowded  place,  wrapped  in  wonder, 
staring  at  the  gilded  figures  on  the  fagade  of  the 
Opera,  until  an  excitable  official  with  a  white 
baton  poured  a  stream  of  voluble  expostulation 
into  his  ear,  and  he  dodged  from  under  an  omnibus 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  153 

just  in  time  to  fall  into  the  path  of  a  motor,  caus 
ing  general  execration. 

The  official  with  the  white  stick  finally  landed 
him  on  the  curb  before  he  became  an  obstruction 
to  traffic.  He  sank  into  an  inviting  iron  chair 
and  ordered  a  drink,  as  he  saw  that  that  was  what 
the  Parisians  used  their  sidewalks  for.  In  answer 
to  his  labored  French,  there  came  back  in  the 
purest  Irish : 

"Whisky,  sor  ?  Black  and  White,  sor?  Very 
good, sor !" 

"Well,  I  never!"  he  murmured,  radiant  with 
happiness. 

When  the  waiter  reappeared  with  the  drink,  he 
was  gazing  down  the  broad  avenue,  entranced. 

"Where  does  that  go?"  he  whispered  to  the 
waiter,  thrusting  a  bill  into  the  curving  palm  and 
pointing  vaguely  before  him. 

"The  Luver,  sure,  sor.  You'll  be  wanting  a 
nurse  before  the  day  is  done!"  the  Irishman 
muttered. 

And  indeed  the  self-contained  young  American 
began  to  act  like  a  lunatic  let  loose.  Gulping 
down  his  whisky,  he  set  off  at  random,  plunging 
again  into  the  sea  of  traffic,  finally  escaping  to  the 
shelter  of  a  cab.  The  driver,  after  vain  attempts 
to  extract  an  intelligible  order  from  his  fare,  just 
drove  on  and  on  through  the  boulevards,  across 


154  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

great  squares,  up  the  noble  avenue  to  the  lofty 
arch,  and  then  came  back  to  the  center  of  the  city 
and  stopped  suggestively  before  a  restaurant. 

Somehow  Brainard  managed  to  get  fed,  and 
then  the  fatherly  cabby  received  him  and  bore 
him  on  through  the  gas-lighted  streets,  soft  and 
lambent  and  vocal,  and  at  the  end  of  another  hour 
deposited  him  in  front  of  what  Brainard  took  to  be 
a  theater  —  a  modest-looking  building  enough. 
From  the  poster  he  saw  that  it  was  the  Frangais. 

The  great  Theatre  Frangais  !  He  beamed  back 
at  cabby,  who  gesticulated  with  his  whip  and  urged 
him  on.  Cabby  had  begun  sympathetically  to 
comprehend  his  lunatic. 

They  played  Cyrano  that  night,  it  happened. 
Though  the  fluent  lines  rolled  too  swiftly  over 
Brainard's  head  for  his  feeble  comprehension 
of  the  language,  he  understood  the  wonderful 
actors.  For  the  first  time  in  the  twenty-eight 
years  of  his  existence,  he  realized  what  is  art  - 
what  it  is  to  conceive  and  represent  life  with  living 
creatures,  to  clothe  dull  lines  of  print  with  human 
passions.  This  was  what  he  had  dreamed  might 
be  when  he  descended  from  his  gallery  seat  in  a 
Broadway  theater  —  but  what  never  was. 

Cabby  was  asleep  on  the  box  outside  when 
Brainard  emerged  from  his  dream.  At  the  young 
American's  touch,  he  awoke,  and,  chirping  to  his 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  155 

decrepit  horse,  bore  the  stranger  to  his  hotel. 
At  the  door  they  exchanged  vivid  protestations 
of  regard,  and  a  couple  of  pieces  of  gold  rolled  into 
cabby's  paw. 

"He  understood!"  Brainard  murmured  grate 
fully.  " Demain  —  demaint"  he  cried;  and  the 
cocker  cracked  his  whip. 

The  next  two  days  were  the  most  wonderful 
that  Brainard  had  ever  spent.  He  slept  but  a 
few  hours  each  night  —  was  there  not  all  the  rest 
of  life  to  sleep  in  ?  Under  the  fat  cabby's  guid 
ance  he  roamed  day  and  night.  He  would  murmur 
from  time  to  time  some  famous  name  which  seemed 
to  act  on  cabby  like  a  cabalistic  charm,  —  Louvre, 
Pantheon,  Arc  de  Triomphe,  Invalides,  Bastille, 
Luxembourg,  Notre  Dame.  At  noon  and  at 
night  they  drew  up  before  some  marvelous  restau 
rant  where  the  most  alluring  viands  were  to  be  had. 
Each  evening  there  was  a  theater,  carefully  chosen 
by  cabby;  and  there  Brainard  spent  enchanted 
hours,  drinking  in  at  every  sense  the  meaning  of 
the  play,  savoring  the  charm  of  intonation,  of 
line,  of  gesture  —  the  art  which  seemed  innate  in 
these  people. 

For  was  he  not,  as  he  had  said  to  Krutzmacht, 
by  profession  a  dramatist  ? 

The  third  day  he  bethought  him  of  the  French 
lady  of  the  Toulouse,  and  gave  her  address  to 


156  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

his  guardian.  With  her  he  made  an  expedition 
to  Versailles.  On  their  return  from  the  chateau, 
they  dined  at  a  little  restaurant  at  Ville  d'Avray, 
the  Frenchwoman  carefully  ordering  the  food 
and  the  wine. 

As  the  twilight  fell  across  the  old  ponds  and 
over  the  woods  where  Corot  had  once  wandered, 
Brainard  murmured  softly : 

"Melody,  my  dear,  I  owe  you  a  whole  lot  for 
this  —  more  than  I  can  ever  pay  you,  no  matter 
how  much  I  can  squeeze  out  of  those  Dutchmen 
for  your  bonds  and  stock!"  And  then,  aloud, 
"Here's  to  Melody  —  God  bless  her  !" 

"Mel-odie!"  said  the  French  lady  daintily. 
"It  is  a  pretty  name.  Is  that  the  name  of  your 
fiancte?" 

"No,  madam!  I  have  never  seen  the  lady  — 
but  I  hope  to,  some  day  ! " 

The  Frenchwoman  smiled  and  made  no  com 
ment,  puzzled  by  this  latest  manifestation  of 
the  lunatic  American. 

After  dinner  they  strolled  through  the  ancient 
park  of  St.  Cloud  to  the  river,  and  took  a  bateau 
mouche  for  Paris.  Mme.  Vernon  seemed  to  under 
stand  all  the  pleasant  little  ways  of  enjoying  life. 
It  was  a  warm,  starry  night.  The  French  lady 
sat  close  to  Brainard,  and  looked  up  tenderly 
into  his  eyes,  but  though  his  lips  were  wreathed 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  157 

in  smiles,  and  his  eyes  were  bright,  he  did  not 
seem  to  comprehend  what  such  opportunities 
were  made  for. 

"Not  even  took  my  hand  once  !"  she  murmured 
to  herself  with  a  sigh,  as  she  mounted  the  stairs 
to  her  apartment  alone.  "  What  are  these  Ameri 
cans  made  of  ?  To  drink  to  the  name  of  an  un 
known,  and  spend  their  dollars  like  sous.  And 
always  business  !" 

For  when  she  had  suggested  an  excursion  for 
the  morrow,  the  young  man  had  excused  himself 
on  the  plea  of  "my  business." 

"Always  business  !"  she  murmured. 

But  the  lady  did  Brainard  an  injustice.  He  was 
thinking  little  of  business.  If  she  had  but  known 
it,  he  was  in  love,  and  dreaming  —  in  love  with 
life,  and  dreaming  of  the  wonderful  mystery  of 
Krutzmacht  and  of  the  still  more  mysterious 
Melody  ! 

At  his  hotel  there  was  a  dispatch  from  the 
Schneider  Brothers,  appointing  a  meeting  at  a 
hotel  in  The  Hague  for  the  following  evening. 


XVIII 

WHEN  a  servant  had  ushered  Brainard  into  a 
private  salon  of  the  old  Bible  Hotel,  and  discreetly 
closed  the  door,  an  alert,  middle-aged  German 
with  grizzled  hair  and  close-trimmed  beard  rose 
from  a  table  and  advanced  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"Mr.  Brainard,  I  presume?"  he  said  in  fluent 
English.  "I  am  Adolf  Schneider." 

"So  it's  important  enough  for  the  old  boy  to 
come  himself!"  Brainard  thought  as  they  shook 
hands. 

Herr  Schneider  cast  a  quick  look  at  the  small 
bag  which  the  servant  had  taken  from  Brainard's 
hand  and  placed  beside  his  coat  and  hat. 

"You  haven't  brought  the  papers  with  you!" 
the  banker  exclaimed  with  unconscious  disap 
pointment. 

"They  are  in  a  safe  place,"  Brainard  replied; 
"but  I  have  a  pretty  complete  inventory  of  them." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  list  that 
he  had  made  on  board  the  Toulouse,  and  also  a 
copy  of  the  power  of  attorney  that  Krutzmacht 

158 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  159 

had  signed.  The  former  he  handed  to  the  banker, 
who  seized  it  with  a  poorly  assumed  air  of  indif 
ference,  and  ran  his  eye  down  the  list. 

Herr  Schneider's  face  expanded,  it  seemed  to 
Brainard,  as  he  neared  the  bottom ;  but  with 
out  making  any  comment  he  took  a  list  from  his 
pocket  and  compared  it  with  Brainard's.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  looked  at  the  young  man  with 
fresh  interest. 

"There's  some  more  stuff  —  books  and  files  of 
papers,  which  I  packed  in  a  trunk,"  Brainard  ex 
plained  .  "  But  I  had  to  leave  the  trunk  behind  me. 
It  should  be  safe  in  Chicago  by  this  time,  and  I  can 
get  it,  if  it's  still  there,  when  I  return  to  America." 

"You  were  thorough!"  the  banker  exclaimed 
with  a  smile.  "You  did  not  leave  much  behind 
you." 

Apparently  Herr  Schneider  already  knew  some 
thing  about  the  raid  upon  Krutzmacht's  safe. 

"I  took  everything  in  sight,"  Brainard  said 
simply. 

"And  I  am  to  understand  that  you  have  these" 
—  the  banker  pointed  to  the  inventory  —  "with 
you  in  Europe?" 

"They  are  where  I  can  get  at  them  easily," 
Brainard  replied  guardedly. 

For  several  moments  the  two  men  looked  at 
each  other  across  the  table. 


160  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  with  it?"  the 
banker  asked  casually  at  last. 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  Brainard  replied  lightly. 
"I  want  to  find  out  what  it's  worth,  if  I  can." 

"Your  coup  has  created  much  excitement  in 
certain  quarters.  I  suppose  you  are  aware  of 
that,"  Herr  Adolf  observed  in  a  warning  tone. 
"  You  will  find  it  difficult  to  negotiate  any  securities 
you  may  have  —  if  you  escape  worse  complica 
tions!" 

Brainard  realized  that  the  German  was  speak 
ing  diplomatically —  bluffing,  to  use  a  plainer  word. 

"I  have  merely  obeyed  the  orders  I  received," 
he  observed  innocently,  handing  the  banker  a 
copy  of  Krutzmacht's  power  of  attorney.  "Un 
fortunately,  as  you  know,  Mr.  Krutzmacht  died 
suddenly,  and  I  am  left  with  only  the  most  general 
instructions  to  direct  my  future  movements." 

The  banker  glanced  at  the  power  of  attorney, 
and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  handed  it  back  to 
Brainard.  Apparently  he  preferred  to  regard 
the  young  stranger  as  merely  a  clever  adventurer. 

"That  can't  be  of  much  use  to  you,"  he  said 
coldly. 

Brainard  tipped  back  in  his  chair  and  eyed 
the  banker.  Finally  he  brought  the  chair  down 
on  the  floor  with  a  bang,  and,  leaning  forward, 
tapped  the  banker  pleasantly  on  the  knee. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  161 

"I'm  no  crook,  Herr  Schneider  —  not  really, 
you  know !  You  can  think  so,  if  you  want  to, 
but  it  won't  make  the  price  of  the  goods  any 
cheaper  in  the  end.  You  might  like  to  hear  how 
I  happened  to  get  mixed  up  in  this  affair  ?" 

He  proceeded  to  tell  the  story  of  his  movements 
since  that  April  evening  when  he  had  found  Krutz- 
macht  in  a  fit  on  a  New  York  street.  He  omitted 
all  references  to  the  vague  Melody,  who  seemed 
irrelevant  for  the  moment. 

"An  extraordinary  story!"  the  banker  com 
mented,  with  more  warmth,  but  still  dubi 
ously. 

"And  it's  all  true!"  Brainard  cried.  "Now 
I  want  to  know  a  lot  of  things  from  you.  First, 
who  was  Krutzmacht  ?  And  why  was  the  old 
man  so  dead  set  on  getting  his  property  over 
here?" 

The  banker's  manner  relaxed  into  its  habitual 
suavity.  This  extraordinary  young  American, 
who  looted  safes  for  a  chance  acquaintance,  amused 
as  well  as  puzzled  him.  Evidently  Brainard  was 
not  easily  intimidated.  The  banker  resolved 
upon  another  method  of  attack. 

"Really,  young  man,"  he  said,  "you  know 
nothing  more  than  you  have  told  me  about  your 
—  employer?" 

"Hardly  a  thing  —  except  that  he  was  mixed 


162  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

up  in  some  big  business  deals.  Naturally,  these 
past  weeks,  I  have  wondered  a  good  deal  about 
who  he  was." 

"I  should  think  you  might !"  the  banker  agreed, 
with  a  laugh.  "I  can  tell  you  in  a  few  words 
what  I  know  about  him.  Mr.  Herbert  Krutz- 
macht  was  a  countryman  of  mine,  as  you  might 
infer  from  his  name  —  a  native  of  Mannheim. 
He  went  to  the  States  when  he  was  a  young  man, 
back  in  the  fifties.  Like  so  many  of  my  country 
men,  he  carried  nothing  to  your  land  but  his 
brains  and  his  will.  He  had  many  adventures 
out  there.  After  your  Civil  War,  he  moved  to 
the  Pacific  coast,  engaged  in  mining  operations, 
made  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  lost  it.  He  put 
it  all  into  one  property,  from  which  he  expected 
to  take  a  vast  fortune,  but  - 

"At  Monument,  Arizona?"  Brainard  inter 
rupted. 

"In  Arizona,  I  think.  I  don't  remember  the 
name  of  the  place.  The  mine  was  called  —  let 
me  see  —  yes,  the  Melody  mine." 

"The  Melody!"  Brainard  exclaimed,  startled. 
"So  that  was  it,  was  it  ?" 

"What  was?" 

"Nothing  —  merely  a  guess  of  mine.  Please 
proceed  !" 

"After  the  failure  of  his  mine  he  had  a  hard 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  163 

time,  and  everything  seemed  against  him.  Then, 
a  few  years  ago,  he  got  control  of  a  company  to 
develop  water  power  in  northern  California  — 
the  Shasta  Company,  it  was  called.  From  this 
he  went  into  land  and  timber  business,  and  finally 
began  to  build  a  railroad,  the  Pacific  Northern. 
From  time  to  time,  as  he  needed  money  for  his 
various  enterprises,  he  applied  to  us,  and  we 
found  the  capital  for  him  when  he  could  not  get 
it  in  the  States.  It  was  our  capital,  mostly, 
that  went  into  the  railroad,  which  was  to  go  north 
ward  into  a  region  controlled  by  other  roads. 
That  started  the  opposition  in  California  to  him 
and  his  schemes,  and  trouble  quickly  developed. 
Your  countrymen,  Mr.  Brainard,  are  not  always 
scrupulous  in  the  weapons  they  use.  These 
hostile  parties  had  bought  up  one  of  the  judges 
in  California,  and  they  struck  their  blow  while 
Mr.  Krutzmacht  was  in  New  York  a  month  or 
more  ago  conferring  with  our  representative. 
It  had  been  arranged  to  raise  the  necessary  funds 
to  pay  the  interest  due  on  the  outstanding  bonds, 
and  to  complete  the  railroad.  Then  Mr.  Krutz 
macht  disappeared,  the  California  court  granted 
the  other  side  their  receivership,  and  he  was  found 
dead  in  a  New  York  hospital !" 

"It  must  have  been  foul  play  !" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


164  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"As  I  figure  it  out,  those  crooks  must  have  been 
watching  him  all  the  time  in  New  York,  and  when 
they  learned  that  he  had  succeeded  in  raising  this 
money  he  needed  to  keep  his  property  out  of  their 
hands,  they  did  not  wait.  They  - 
.  "What  ?"  the  banker  demanded. 

"Made  away  with  him  —  drugged  him,  prob 
ably,  then  chucked  him  out  of  a  cab  into  the 
street." 

"Quite  possibly  that  was  it.  Your  people  do 
such  peculiar  things  !  Well,  the  crooks,  as  you 
call  them,  got  their  receivership  for  the  Shasta 
Company  —  the  parent  company  —  the  very  day 
he  died.  Krutzmacht  was  a  fighter,  a  hard  man 
to  conquer,  and  if  he  had  lived,  I  have  very  little 
doubt  that  he  would  have  succeeded  in  worsting 
his  enemies." 

"And  now?"  Brainard  asked  with  a  smile. 

The  banker  made  a  comical  gesture. 

"The  receiver  found  very  little  to  receive, 
naturally,  after  your  visit.  Of  course,  you  can 
understand  what  they  were  after  was  not  the 
Shasta  Company,  but  its  rich  subsidiaries.  You 
had  left  the  shell,  of  which  the  Court  has  taken 
physical  possession." 

Brainard  laughed. 

"The  old  boy  knew  what  he  was  about,"  he 
said.  "There  was  no  time  to  lose !  Tell  me," 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  165 

he  asked  abruptly,  "do  you  know  whether  Krutz- 
macht  had  any  relatives  —  any  heirs  ?" 

"  He  must  have  some  connections  at  Mannheim. 
Krutzmacht  is  a  common  enough  name  there. 
But  I  do  not  think  that  any  of  them  were  closely 
related  to  Mr.  Herbert  Krutzmacht." 

"I  don't  mean  thirty-third  cousins.  Had  he 
a  wife  or  children  ?" 

The  banker  hesitated,  and  then  said : 

"Several  years  ago,  when  I  was  in  New  York, 
I  remember  meeting  some  woman  with  Mr. 
Krutzmacht  at  a  hotel  —  a  very  handsome  wo 
man,  from  one  of  your  Southern  States,  I  judged 
by  her  accent.  But,"  he  added  hastily,  "I  have 
no  reason  to  believe  that  she  was  his  wife.  It  is 
probable  that  one  might  find  out  in  San  Francisco, 
where  he  lived  the  latter  part  of  his  life.  I  could 
not  say." 

"So  far  as  you  know,  there  is  no  one  interested 
in  this  deal  ?"  Brainard  persisted. 

"The  heirs  will  announce  themselves  soon 
enough,  if  there  are  any.  Until  then,"  Herr 
Schneider  remarked  slyly,  "we  need  not  go  into 
the  question." 

The  young  American  stared  at  the  banker  with 
honest,  uncomprehending  eyes. 

"But  that's  just  what  it  is  my  business  to  do  !" 
he  exclaimed.  "There  was  some  one,  I  am  sure, 
whom  the  old  man  tried  to  tell  me  about." 


166  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Oh!" 

"He  was  too  far  gone  to  say  the  whole  name, 
but  I  think  he  had  in  mind  some  one  whom  he 
wanted  to  have  his  money.  You  see  how  it  is, 
Herr  Schneider.  I  am  acting  as  this  old  fellow's 
representative  —  his  executor,  so  to  speak  - 
to  take  care  of  his  property  and  hand  it  over  to 
some  one  named  Melody,  or — " 

"Melody?"  inquired  the  banker,  puzzled. 

"Yes  —  that  was  what  I  made  it  out  to  be," 
Brainard  said,  blushing. 

"But   that    was    the    name    of    the    Arizona 


mine." 


"It  might  perhaps  be  the  name  of  —  of  a  per 
son,  too." 

The  banker  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  turned 
to  the  inventory.  Putting  on  his  glasses,  he  re 
read  the  paper  carefully.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  glanced  up,  saying : 

"Well,  Mr.  Brainard,  now  for  business,  as 
your  people  say.  What  do  you  want  me  to  give 
you  in  exchange  for  these  securities  and  papers  ?" 

"What  they  are  worth." 

"Ah,  that  would  be  very  hard  to  say  !" 

"What  would  they  be  worth  to  Mr.  Krutz- 
macht,  if  he  were  here  ?  " 

"If  Mr.  Krutzmacht  were  alive,  they  might 
be  worth  a  great  deal,"  the  banker  said  cautiously, 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  167 

"and  yet  they  might  have  no  value,~now  that  he 
is  dead." 

"He  seemed  to  think  they  had  some  value," 
Brainard  said  flatly. 

The  banker  fidgeted. 

"Oh,  of  course,  naturally  !" 

"And  they  can't  have  lost  all  their  value  within 
a  few  weeks." 

"One  company  is  bankrupt  already.  This 
suit,  the  irregular  manner  in  which  possession 
of  these  papers  was  obtained — "  began  the 
banker,  fencing. 

"What  will  you  give,  cash  down?"  demanded 
Brainard. 

The  banker  rose  from  his  chair  and  walked  to 
the  window.  He  pulled  out  a  fresh  cigar,  lighted 
it,  laid  it  down,  and  turned  to  Brainard. 

"It  is  a  great  risk.  We  do  not  know  what  we 
can  do  with  the  properties.  We  shall  doubtless 
have  lawsuits.  We  may  lose  all.  Let  us  say 
fifty  thousand  dollars  for  everything  —  every 
thing  !"  he  repeated. 

The  banker  looked  keenly  at  Brainard,  as  if 
he  thought  he  had  been  impressive. 

"There  are  over  eight  millions  of  Pacific  North 
ern  bonds,  and  about  fifteen  millions  in  stock  —  be 
sides  all  the  rest,"  Brainard  observed  reflectively. 
"It  won't  do,  Mr.  Schneider  —  guess  again  !" 


168  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

"Stocks  and  bonds  are  worth  what  you  can 
get  for  them." 

"Then  I'll  wait,  and  see  if  I  can  get  more  for 
these,"  Brainard  suggested  smilingly.  "There's 
no  hurry  about  the  matter.  I  came  to  you  first," 
he  said,  "because  I  supposed  you  would  have  the 
old  man's  account  checked  up,  and  know  just 
what  was  coming  to  him." 

The  banker  smiled  at  the  young  man's  sim 
plicity. 

"Business  is  not  done  that  way.  It  is  a  ques 
tion  to  whom  the  property  belongs,"  he  added 
meaningly. 

"I  see  !     Well,  it  belongs  to  me  at  present  — " 

"Let  us  say  a  hundred  thousand  —  in  cash, 
paid  to  you  personally,"  the  banker  interrupted 
hastily. 

"You  think  you  are  bidding  for  stolen  goods, 
eh,  and  can  get  them  cheap  ?  "  Brainard  suggested. 

"Four  hundred  thousand  marks  is  much 
money  !" 

"A  whole  lot  of  money  —  no  question  about 
that ! "  the  young  American  remarked  with  a 
quizzical  smile,  thinking  that  ten  dollars  was 
more  ready  money  than  he  had  had,  of  his  own, 
for  many  months.  "But  it  isn't  enough  !" 

"Are  you  not  ready  for  dinner?"  the  banker 
suggested  genially.  "We  can  have  our  dinner 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  169 

here  and  talk  matters  over  quietly.  I  will  ex 
plain." 

They  dined  at  great  leisure,  while  the  banker 
gave  Brainard  his  first  lessons  in  corporation 
finance,  with  apt  illustrations  from  the  history 
of  Krutzmacht's  enterprises.  He  explained  how 
an  individual  or  a  corporation  might  be  put  into 
bankruptcy  and  yet  be  intrinsically  very  rich,  — 
the  spoil  always  going  to  the  stronger  in  the  strug 
gle.  He  had  ordered  a  magnum  of  champagne, 
and  pressed  the  wine  upon  the  young  man  with 
hospitable  persistence;  but  Brainard  felt  that 
if  he  ever  wanted  to  keep  his  head  clear,  this  was 
the  time,  and  he  drank  little.  He  suspected  the 
banker's  geniality. 

From  finance  the  banker  drifted  to  the  topic 
of  Krutzmacht  himself.  He  told  many  stories 
of  the  old  man,  which  showed  his  daring  and  his 
ability  to  take  what  he  could  get  wherever  he 
found  it. 

"  He  was  always  talking  about  that  mine  — 
the  one  in  Arizona.  He  expected  to  make  a  very 
big  fortune  from  it  some  day.  It  was  to  get 
money  with  which  to  develop  his  mine,  I  believe, 
that  he  went  into  all  the  other  things,"  Herr 
Schneider  explained. 

"The  Melody  mine!"  the  young  man  mur 
mured  to  himself. 


170  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

"That  was  it !  He  sank  one  fortune  in  it,  but 
he  would  never  let  go  —  that  was  his  way." 

When  they  had  reached  their  coffee,  the  banker 
turned  suddenly  upon  Brainard. 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  to  take  my 
offer?" 

"Your  people  here  have  a  good  deal  of  money 
tied  up  in  this  business  ?  " 

"A  good  deal  more  than  I  wish  we  had,"  the 
banker  replied  frankly.  "So  we  must  send 
more  down  the  well  to  bring  back  what's  there 
already.  We  shall  have  a  fight  on  our  hands, 
too." 

"I  don't  understand  business,"  the  young  man 
said.  "The  chances  are  that  Mel  —  Krutz- 
macht's  heirs  don't,  either.  That's  why  he  told 
me  to  come  over  here  to  dispose  of  his  stuff. 
The  best  I  can  do  is  to  take  cash  and  quit." 

"Exactly  !"  the  banker  beamed. 

"Of  course,"  Brainard  drawled,  "we  don't 
sell  Krutzmacht's  private  things  —  the  mine, 
I  mean  —  the  Melody  mine."  The  banker  waved 
his  hand  indifferently.  "And  for  the  rest  you 
can  give  us "  —  the  banker  held  his  cigar  poised 
in  the  air  —  "two  millions." 

The  banker  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"You  swindler!"  he  shouted  angrily.  "You 
have  the  impudence  — " 

*• 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  171 

"Careful !  That's  not  a  pretty  name,  Herr 
Schneider,"  Brainard  replied  coldly.  "Perhaps 
I  am  not  the  only  crook  in  this  business.  Don't 
get  excited.  You  don't  have  to  take  my  offer." 

The  banker  slowly  subsided  into  his  chair. 

"We  shall  appeal  to  the  courts  !"  he  snarled. 

"What  courts?  I  thought  you  might  try  to 
bluff,  and  so  I  suggested  having  our  talk  in  some 
neutral  place." 

"You  are  pretty  shrewd,  my  young  man.  You 
take  all  these  precautions  for  the  sake  of  Mr. 
Krutzmacht's  heirs,  I  suppose,"  he  sneered  un 
pleasantly. 

"  Careful  now !  I  don't  mind  one  bit  going 
to  a  Dutch  jail  for  slugging  you ;  but  what  good 
would  that  do  either  of  us  ?  The  stuff  isn't 
here,  you  know." 

With  this  Brainard  rose  to  his  feet  and  took 
his  coat  and  bag. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  the  banker  asked  in 
some  alarm. 

"Oh,  I'll  take  a  look  about  the  place,  I  guess, 
and  then  go  back  to  Paris.  I  don't  believe  you 
and  I  can  do  business  to  advantage  in  your  pres 
ent  mood." 

"Your  plunder  won't  do  you  any  good,"  the 
banker  observed.  "You  can't  raise  a  penny  on 
it." 


172  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"We'll  see  about  that.  There  are  others  who 
might  be  willing  to  pay  me  something  for  the 
paper.  I  have  a  pretty  good  idea  that  their 
agents  are  hunting  for  my  address  at  the  present 
moment.  Suppose  I  let  them  find  me  ?" 

"Call  it  a  million  marks  !"  the  banker  snapped. 

"I  said  two  million  dollars,  and  I'll  keep  the 
bonds,  too.  You  said  they  were  no  good,  as  I 
understand.  They  might  as  well  stay  with  me, 
in  that  case.  They  look  pretty  ! " 

The  banker  gave  him  an  evil  look.  Brainard, 
unconcerned,  rang  for  a  waiter,  and  when  the 
man  appeared  he  ordered  his  bill  and  a  cab. 

"When  can  you  deliver  the  papers  —  those 
that  you  have  with  you  in  Europe  ? "  the  banker 
asked  briskly,  when  the  servant  had  departed. 

"Whenever  you  are  ready  with  the  cash  — 
two  million  dollars,  not  marks  —  Herr  Schneider  ! " 

"One  doesn't  carry  two  million  dollars  in  one's 
trousers  pockets,  over  here,"  the  banker  sneered. 

"I  will  give  you  one  week  to  deliver  the  cash 
in  Paris,"  Brainard  replied  carelessly.  "Just 
seven  days." 

"Your  cab  is  waiting,  sir,"  the  waiter  an 
nounced. 

"All  right !  You  will  have  to  excuse  me,  Herr 
Schneider.  I  want  to  take  a  look  about  the  town." 

And  thus  they  parted  without  shaking  hands. 


HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE  173 

"Tell  the  driver,"  Brainard  said  to  the  waiter, 
"to  show  me  everything  worth  seeing  in  your 
town." 

As  he  settled  himself  into  the  cab  for  his  sight 
seeing,  he  mused : 

"I  wonder  if  I  got  enough  !  There's  no  telling 
what  the  stuff  is  really  worth.  I'd  have  given 
it  to  him  for  a  million,  all  of  it,  if  he  hadn't  taken 
me  for  a  common  sneak  thief.  Well,  I  guess  I 
touched  his  limit.  If  he  lays  down  on  my  prop 
osition,  I'll  have  to  look  up  the  other  crowd,  and 
I  suspect  there  isn't  much  to  choose  between 
them  so  far  as  their  methods  are  concerned. 
But  I  bet  old  Schnei  will  turn  up  in  Paris  before 
the  week  is  out  with  a  bag  of  dollars.  And  there 
are  the  bonds  —  they  may  be  worth  something, 
after  all,  to  Melody!" 

He  interrupted  his  meditation  to  squint  an 
eye  at  a  palace  toward  which  the  cocker  was 
furiously  waving  his  whip. 

"All  right,  cocker,  —  you  can  drive  on,"  he 
replied,  having  taken  in  the  monument  sufficiently. 
"Well"  —  he  concluded  his  meditation  aloud  — 
"two  millions,  cash,  is  a  pretty  good  bunch  of 
money  for  any  girl.  I  don't  believe  she  could 
have  done  any  better  herself.  And  there  are  the 
eight  millions  of  bonds.  Now  where  in  thunder  is 
Melody?" 


174  HIS   GREAT   ADVENTURE 

"Was?"  the  coachman  demanded. 

Brainard  waved  him  on,  and  continued  his 
thoughts  without  speaking. 

"There  is  the  mine,  too  —  the  Melody  mine. 
Queer  name  for  a  mine,  and  a  queer  name  for  a 
woman,  too,  now  you  think  of  it !  Is  there  any 
Melody  girl  —  woman,  anyway,  anywhere?" 

The  mere  doubt  of  the  existence  of  such  a  per 
sonage  dampened  his  good  spirits.  If  Melody 
was  a  fiction  of  his  youthful  imagination,  he  was 
loath  to  part  with  her;  for  she  had  become  the 
possible  reality  that  held  his  dream  together. 

"No!"  he  concluded  aloud.  "No  man  would 
have  made  all  that  effort,  when  he  was  dying, 
to  speak  the  name  of  a  mine  !" 

With  this  sage  reflection  he  dismissed  from 
his  thoughts  the  teasing  puzzle  of  Krutzmacht 
and  his  heirs,  and  devoted  his  entire  attention 
to  the  monuments  of  The  Hague. 


XIX 

FIVE  days  later  Brainard  stood  chatting  with 
Herr  Adolf  Schneider  and  Herr  Nathan  Schneider 
on  the  broad  granite  steps  of  the  Credit  Lyonnais 
in  Paris.  The  transfer  of  all  Krutzmacht's 
papers,  except  the  packages  of  bonds,  had  just 
been  completed  within  the  bank,  and  receipts 
for  them  had  been  given  to  the  young  American, 
together  with  drafts  on  New  York  for  two  mil 
lions  of  dollars. 

"May  I  inquire  what  you  intend  to  do  now?" 
Herr  Nathan  asked,  simple  curiosity  on  his  broad 
face. 

"I'm  going  to  put  in  one  week  more  here, 
then  pull  out  for  San  Francisco,  and  try  to  hunt 
up  my  principal,"  Brainard  replied. 

"You  are  not  afraid  to  return  to  the  States?" 
Herr  Adolf  inquired. 

"Why  should  I  be?  Our  people  know  when 
they  are  licked.  Those  crooks  won't  worry  me 
any  longer.  More  likely  they'll  be  after  you 
now!" 

Brainard  laughed  pleasantly. 
175 


176  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"I  think,"  Herr  Nathan  observed  compla 
cently,  "we  can  take  care  of  them." 

"I  hope  so  !  I  want  to  see  those  bonds  make 
good  some  day." 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  sell  your  bonds,  young 
man.  That  is  my  best  advice,"  the  banker  said 
gravely. 

"I'll  tell  Mel  —  my  principal  what  you  say," 
Brainard  laughed  back.  "Now  good  day  to 
you,  gentlemen,  and  good  hunting  !" 

Herr  Adolf  shook  the  young  man's  hand  cor 
dially. 

"If  you  ever  want  a  business  —  after  you  have 
discovered  this  mysterious  heir  to  Mr.  Krutz- 
macht  —  why,  come  over  here  to  me,  and  I  will 
make  a  financier  of  you  !" 

"Thanks!" 

Brainard  sauntered  slowly  down  the  crowded 
boulevard.  He  had  before  him  seven  more  days 
of  Paris  —  seven  beautiful  June  days.  For  he  had 
resolved  to  give  himself  one  week  of  pure  vaca 
tion  in  Paris  as  payment  for  services  performed 
for  his  unknown  principal.  Thus  seriously  did 
he  hold  himself  to  his  mission. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  he  would  take  the  first 
fast  steamer  for  New  York,  and  begin  the  hunt 
for  an  heir  for  the  money  he  had  obtained  from 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  177 

old  Krutzmacht's  property  —  for  that  shadowy 
Melody  whose  name  so  persistently  haunted  his 
imagination.  But  now  how  best  could  he  spend 
these  last  precious  hours  of  freedom  and  delight 
which  he  had  well  earned  ? 

The  young  American  with  two  million  dollars 
in  his  pockets  paused  beside  the  curb  and  watched 
the  brilliant  stream  of  Paris  life  flow  past  him  for 
many  minutes.  Then  he  beckoned  to  a  cab,  and 
drove  to  a  steamship  office,  where  he  engaged 
passage  for  that  day  week  from  Cherbourg.  Next 
he  went  to  a  tailor,  and  ordered  clothes  to  re 
place  his  Chicago  ready-made  suit,  which  no 
longer  satisfied  his  aspirations  in  the  way  of  per 
sonal  appearance.  He  did  not  mean  to  go  shabby 
any  longer,  no  matter  what  fate  might  be  in  store 
for  him  at  the  close  of  his  present  adventure. 

These  necessary  duties  performed,  he  betook 
himself  to  a  famous  restaurant  near  the  Madeleine, 
where  he  ordered  an  excellent  breakfast.  While 
he  ate,  he  laid  his  plans. 

Brainard  had  made  most  of  his  journey  through 
life  without  congenial  companions,  but  now  he 
felt  a  desire  for  companionship.  It  was  another 
of  those  hitherto  unsuspected  capacities  that 
had  been  stimulated  by  his  recent  experiences. 
He  bethought  himself  of  the  only  human  being 
he  knew  in  all  Paris  —  the  amiable  Mme.  Vernon, 


178  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

his  friend  of  the  Toulouse;  so  after  his  break 
fast  he  proceeded  to  the  Frenchwoman's  hotel. 

Mme.  Vernon  welcomed  him  cordially. 

"I  thought  you  had  returned  to  America." 

"I  have  another  week,"  he  explained,  "and 
I  want  you  to  show  me  how  to  spend  it.  Think  of 
everything  that  a  man  twenty-eight  years  old,  who 
has  never  had  a  day's  real  vacation  in  his  life,  would 
like  to  see  and  do  in  Paris,  and  we'll  do  it  all  to 
gether.  That  is,  if  you  can  give  me  the  time  !" 

The  good-natured  Frenchwoman,  who  had 
returned  to  her  native  country  after  a  long  ab 
sence  in  "barbarian  lands,"  did  not  seem  greatly 
occupied,  and  was  not  averse  to  spending  a  few 
days  with  this  naif  American.  She  smiled  upon 
Brainard. 

"It  is  a  serious  matter,"  she  said  after  medi 
tation,  wrinkling  her  placid  brow.  "And  you 
must  see  all  ?" 

"Everything!" 

"In  one  week!"  she  cried.  "Allans  —  let 
us  start!" 

There  began  seven  days  of  wonder  and  delight 
—  enough  to  pay  with  good  measure  for  all  the 
sordid  years  of  struggle  that  the  young  man  had 
endured;  enough  to  last  him,  if  need  be,  for  a 
lifetime  of  dull  toil.  The  amiable  Frenchwoman 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  her  task  with  enthusiasm 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  179 

and  a  high  intelligence,  and  Brainard  paid  the 
way  with  unquestioning  liberality. 

"It's  my  commission  on  two  millions,"  he  said 
to  himself,  entering  the  items  scrupulously  in  his 
little  account  book. 

From  gallery  and  church  and  restaurant  to 
theater  and  opera  and  cafe  they  trailed  through 
the  sunny  days  and  the  soft  nights.  They  haunted 
the  theaters  especially,  for  the  young  American 
—  would-be  dramatist  —  felt  with  sure  instinct 
that  here  he  had  discovered  the  pure  gold  of  his 
art  after  the  sounding  brass  of  Broadway.  They 
went  to  the  little  theaters  hidden  away  in  obscure 
corners,  to  the  theaters  of  the  people,  as  well 
as  to  the  stately  stages  of  the  Frangais  and  the 
Odeon  and  to  the  popular  boulevard  playhouses. 

Brainard  was  like  a  dry  sponge  that  soaks  and 
soaks  but  never  satisfies  its  thirst,  so  Mme.  Ver- 
non  declared.  With  her  help,  the  rapid  dialogue 
of  the  theater  became  easily  comprehensible. 
For  the  young  man's  ears  seemed  attuned,  his 
whole  intelligence  quickened.  He  was  like  one 
arriving,  after  a  long  journey,  at  the  promised 
land. 

"You  are  an  artist,"  the  Frenchwoman  flat 
tered,  "and  should  stay  here  with  us  in  the  land 
of  artists!" 

Brainard  merely  smiled,  murmuring : 


180  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"We,  too,  are  artists  over  there,  in  our  way  — 
artists  of  life!" 

The  last  day  came.  At  midnight  the  two  com 
panions  emerged  upon  the  busy  Place  du  Theatre 
Frangais,  beside  the  plashing  fountain.  It  had 
been  "Phedre,"  and  the  Frenchwoman  had 
yawned  through  the  stately  lines  of  sublime  pas 
sion.  She  would  have  preferred  the  farce  at  the 
Palais  Royal,  or  to  prolong  their  last  intimate 
dinner  at  Lavenue's,  which  she  loved  so  well. 
But  the  young  American  had  sat  enthralled,  and 
now  he  walked  as  in  a  dream,  with  head  erect. 

In  a  few  hours  more  this  dream  in  which  he 
had  lived,  this  inspired  world  of  beauty  and  art, 
would  have  vanished  from  his  sight,  never  again, 
perhaps,  to  dazzle  his  eyes.  Some  careless  god 
had  taken  him  from  his  dingy  corner  and  had 
shown  him  what  a  wonderful  place  this  world 
can  be.  Now,  after  a  week  spent  in  the  city 
of  his  desires,  he  must  return  to  his  own  little 
hole,  and  let  the  clouds  of  reality  fall  between 
him  and  his  vision. 

"But  why,  oh,  why,"  he  murmured  aloud, 
"can't  we  have  something  like  that  ?  Why  isn't 
there  a  place  in  all  America  where  poor  devils 
like  myself  could  drop  in  for  a  few  hours  of 
paradise?" 

"My  poor  poet !"  the  Frenchwoman  exclaimed, 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  181 

guiding  his  footsteps  gently  toward  a  lighted 
cafe.  "If  you  like  it  so  much,  why  dost  thou 
leave  thy  paradise  ?" 

"Because  it  is  so  ordered,"  he  replied  simply. 

"By  whom?" 

And  as  he  did  not  answer,  she  suggested  with 
a  slight  smile : 

"By  that  one  of  whom  you  spoke  —  that 
Melodie?" 

"By  Melody  !"  he  affirmed  gravely. 

For  to-night,  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  for 
America,  that  elusive  mistress  seemed  especially 
real  and  compelling,  no  mere  figment  of  his  heated 
brain. 

"Then,  indeed,"  said  the  Frenchwoman,  with 
a  touch  of  pique,  "you  must  be  in  love  with  your 
Melodie!" 

The  young  American  laughed. 

"  Hardly.     I  don't  know  her  ! " 

"I  do  not  understand." 

"Nor  I!" 

With  two  millions  of  ready  money  lying  close 
to  his  heart  in  the  drafts  of  the  Schneider  Brothers, 
it  never  entered  the  young  man's  mind  that  he 
might  prolong  his  vacation  indefinitely. 

"Stay  with  us  another  eight  days,"  urged  his 
companion,  laying  a  caressing  hand  upon  his 
arm.  "Your  Melodie  will  wait  for  you  !" 


182  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Brainard  laughed,  and  for  reply  paid  the  waiter 
and  rose  from  the  table  where  they  sat.  They 
walked  out  into  the  soft  night,  and  passed  through 
the  Tuileries  Gardens,  across  the  great  square  be 
yond,  with  its  silent  monuments  and  gleaming 
lights.  When  they  reached  Mme.  Vernon's  apart 
ment,  the  Frenchwoman  urged  him  to  enter. 

"It  is  the  last  time,"  she  said  sentimentally. 

Brainard  held  out  a  friendly  hand;  but  she 
would  not  let  him  go. 

"I  have  not  thanked  you  enough  for  this  !" 

She  pointed  coquettishly  to  a  lovely  pendant 
which  she  had  admired  in  a  window  of  the  Rue  de 
la  Paix,  and  which  Brainard  had  bought  for  her. 

"That's  nothing  —  just  to  remember  me  by!" 

"I  do  not  need  it  for  that !" 

"Good  night,"  he  said,  "and  good-by  —  it 
has  been  a  great  week  ! " 

And  that  was  all. 

"'Good  night  and  good-by  —  it  has  been  a 
great  week  ! ' '  The  Frenchwoman  mimicked  the 
young  man's  words  to  herself,  "del,  what  man 
ner  of  man  can  he  be  ?  Or  have  I  grown  so  old  ?" 
And  she  answered  herself  with  a  sigh :  "No,  he's 
only  a  poet,  and  he  is  in  love  with  —  an  idea  ! 
Melodie!  Foolish  poet!" 

So  that  was  the  final  judgment  of  Mme. 
Vernon. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  183 

But  out  in  the  gentle  June  night,  under  the 
dark  Paris  sky,  the  poet  was  sauntering  beneath 
the  dusky  shadow  of  the  Louvre,  the  music  of 
the  lines  he  had  heard  that  evening  floating 
through  his  brain.  He  drifted  on  past  the  empty 
courts  of  the  old  palace,  toward  the  river,  exalted 
by  all  that  he  had  seen  and  felt  during  these  last 
seven  wonderful  days.  The  spinning  moments 
of  his  brief  dream  were  too  precious  to  waste  in 
sleep.  As  he  went,  he  talked  aloud  to  himself. 

"We  ought  to  have  something  like  it  over 
there.  It  could  be  done,  too  !  Melody  should 
do  it  for  us,  with  a  portion  of  all  this  loot  that  I  am 
bringing  back  to  her.  She  should  give  something 
to  America  to  justify  her  name  !" 

If  Mme.  Vernon  had  heard  these  muttered 
words,  she  would  doubtless  have  qualified  her 
judgment  of  the  young  American  by  adding : 

"He  is  a  crazy  poet !" 

Indeed  there  was  something  scarcely  rational 
in  the  young  American's  enthusiasm,  the  glowing 
intoxication  of  spirit  in  which  he  enveloped  Paris. 
That  too  had  been  preparing  for  him  through 
all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  past  weeks,  —  by  the 
sudden  resolves  to  commit  himself  to  the  sick 
man's  purpose,  the  growth  of  will  as  he  met  each 
fresh  complication,  the  physical  and  moral  re 
generation  of  the  long  trail  into  Mexico,  above 


184  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

all  by  the  sense  of  triumph  gained  in  his  encounter 
with  the  Berlin  banker.  The  crust  of  his  starved 
nature  had  broken,  and  at  the  magic  touch  of 
Paris  there  appeared  the  better  spirit  of  the  man, 
—  fearless,  enthusiastic,  worshiping,  —  the  spirit 
of  the  artist,  as  Mme.  Vernon  had  said.  Even 
in  his  quixotic  renunciation,  his  determination 
to  turn  away  from  the  happiness  he  had  found, 
there  was  a  glowing  conviction  that  this  was 
not  the  end.  The  spirit  would  survive.  'Twas, 
indeed,  but  the  start,  the  preparation  for  another 
adventure,  larger,  more  thrilling,  that  loomed 
before  him,  across  the  ocean.  Paris  also  was 
but  revelation  and  preparation;  more  was  to 
come  !  .  .  . 

The  graceful  lines  of  the  Palace  of  the  Louvre 
rose  mysteriously  into  the  night,  and  recalled 
to  Brainard  the  pages  of  old  Dumas,  from  whom 
he  had  learned  to  know  France.  Home  of  the 
past,  of  a  great  race,  home  of  beauty  and  art 
and  romance,  it  called  to  him,  young  barbarian 
that  he  was,  cast  by  chance  upon  its  shores  ! 

Beneath  the  stone  parapet  on  which  he  was 
leaning,  a  laden  barge  passed  stealthily  over 
the  black  surface  of  the  river.  He  followed  it 
up  the  quays,  crossing  the  Pont  Neuf,  over  which 
loomed  the  shadowy  figure  of  the  king  on  horse 
back,  on  toward  Notre  Dame.  All  was  still 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  185 

and  silent  about  the  old  cathedral  as  he  paced 
under  the  shadows  of  the  springing  buttresses. 
At  last,  while  he  lingered  on  the  point  of  the  is 
land,  out  of  the  east  came  a  rosy  light  that  touched 
the  great  gray  towers  of  the  cathedral.  It  was 
the  misty  dawn. 

"To  think,"  he  murmured  prayerfully,  "that 
I  might  have  died  without  knowing  all  this  !" 

The  old  stone  buildings  along  the  winding  river 
gradually  emerged  from  the  gray  mist  of  the  dawn 
and  hung  as  if  suspended,  floating  before  his  eyes. 
The  thin  branches  of  a  tall  poplar  waved  lightly 
above  his  head,  dropping  to  him  a  yellow  leaf. 
A  gendarme  who  was  patrolling  the  quay  looked 
interrogatively  into  the  face  of  the  young  Ameri 
can,  as  if  he  were  suspicious  of  his  proximity  to 
the  river  at  that  hour  of  the  morning. 

"Beau  temps"  he  observed  amicably  to  the 
loiterer. 

"What  do  you  say?"  Brainard  asked,  coming 
a  long  way  down  to  earth. 

The  officer  repeated  his  innocent  remark  about 
the  weather. 

"Yes,  the  temps  is  all  right,"  the  young  man 
agreed.  "Fine!" 

Evidently  another  of  those  foolish  Americans, 
star-gazing  in  the  early  dawn  !  The  officer  lin 
gered  near,  cocking  his  eye  on  the  stranger;  but 


186  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Brainard  had  started  for  his  hotel,  talking  to 
himself  as  he  walked. 

"There's  a  whole  lot,  Melody,  I  can  never  pay 
you  for,  even  with  two  millions  and  a  bunch  of 
five-per-cent  bonds !  Where  are  you,  Melody, 
in  all  this  wide  world  ?" 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  stood  very  still. 
Then,  slapping  his  thigh,  he  shouted  into  the 
dawn: 

"  Why,  Monument !  Monument,  Arizona  ! 
That's  it !  That's  what  the  old  boy  was  trying 
to  say  at  the  very  end,  when  he  was  too  far  gone 
to  make  himself  clearly  understood.  He  was 
trying  to  give  me  the  address,  of  course  !" 

The  gendarme,  thinking  there  must  be  some 
thing  wrong  with  a  young  man  who  acted  in  this 
fashion,  followed  Brainard  to  his  hotel,  whither, 
now  that  he  had  solved  his  puzzle,  he  went  at  a 
brisk  pace. 


XX 

To  get  to  that  pin-prick  on  the  map  called 
Monument,  Arizona,  you  drop  off  the  railroad  at 
Defiance,  which  is  somewhere  east  of  the  water 
tank  named  Phantom,  and  then  follow  an  old 
post  road  across  the  lofty  plateau  in  the  direction 
of  the  mountains  to  the  southwest.  After  some 
thing  more  than  twenty  miles,  the  trail  strikes 
a  deeply  sunk  river  bed  that  winds  like  a  gigantic 
serpent  over  the  desert  toward  the  declining  sun. 
In  one  of  the  coils  of  this  dead  river  serpent  lies 
what  is  left  of  the  mining  camp  of  Monument. 

From  the  dusty  trail  over  the  alkali  plain  Brain- 
ard  emerged  one  blazing  July  afternoon,  saddle- 
sore  after  his  unaccustomed  exercise,  and  red- 
faced  from  the  pitiless  glare  of  the  Arizona  sun. 
As  he  climbed  the  rocky  path  on  the  farther  side 
of  the  river  bed,  the  sun  was  sinking  in  a  gor 
geous  sky  behind  the  wooden  shacks  of  Monument. 

The  place  had  the  desolate  air  of  a  mining 
camp  that  had  been  smothered  before  its  boom 
had  really  come.  The  stack  of  a  large  smelter 
rose  from  a  group  of  corrugated  iron  buildings 
at  the  further  end.  Beyond,  on  the  summit 

187 


188  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

of  a  curious  detached  mound,  set  quite  apart  from 
all  other  features  of  the  landscape,  there  was  a 
considerable  mansion  with  tall  pillars  along  its 
southern  front.  This,  Brainard  surmised,  must 
have  been  the  residence  of  the  owner  or  the  man 
ager  of  the  mine,  and  his  present  goal. 

Apparently  Monument  had  not  enough  life 
left  to  bestir  itself,  even  on  the  arrival  of  a  stran 
ger.  Brainard  slid  from  his  horse  unobserved 
in  front  of  the  Waldorf  Hotel,  which  was  appar 
ently  the  most  pretentious  hostelry  in  the  town. 
Inside  the  Waldorf,  a  Chinaman  was  serving 
a  customer  with  a  meal  of  fried  steak  and  liver- 
colored  pie.  The  only  other  person  in  the  es 
tablishment  was  a  fat  Irishwoman  dozing  in  one 
corner  of  the  large  barroom,  to  which  the  China 
man  referred  the  stranger,  with  a  silent  nod.  The 
landlady  —  for  such  he  took  her  to  be  —  looked 
at  Brainard  stupidly,  and  to  his  request  for  a  room 
merely  dropped  her  head  on  her  ample  breast 
and  resumed  her  nap. 

Brainard  turned  back  to  the  street,  and  there 
the  only  human  being  in  sight  was  an  old  man  sit 
ting  in  front  of  a  tiny  cottage,  which  seemed  more 
decent  in  appearance  than  the  other  residences  of 
Monument.  Brainard  hailed  him,  and  inquired 
if  there  was  another  hotel  in  Monument  in  which 
he  might  take  refuge. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  189 

"There's  hotels  enough,"  the  old  citizen  re 
plied  with  placid  irony,  "but  they  ain't  doing 
business  these  days.  I  reckon  you'll  have  to 
put  up  with  the  Waldorf,  stranger  —  it  ain't  so 
worse ! " 

In  reply  to  Brainard's  complaint  that  the  land 
lady  of  the  Waldorf  would  not  take  notice  of  his 
arrival,  the  old  man  remarked : 

"I  expect  Katie's  just  getting  over  her  yes 
terday's  booze.  She'll  come  around  after  sun 
down.  Come  over  and  sit  awhile.  There  ain't 
any  use  of  worryin'  yourself  in  this  here  coun 
try  !" 

He  waved  an  arm  slowly  over  the  empty  land 
scape. 

"That's  a  fact — Monument  doesn't  seem  greatly 
rushed  with  business,"  Brainard  observed,  taking 
the  proffered  seat  beside  the  old  man.  "What's 
the  matter  with  the  place  ? " 

"The  matter  is  that  nothing  has  been  doing 
in  this  here  camp  for  'most  ten  years,"  the  miner 
replied,  pointing  to  the  smokeless  smelter. 

"Mine  gave  out?" 

"Mine's  all  right  —  they  never  really  got  into 
it.  The  money  gave  out !" 

The  old  man  explained,  in  his  placid  drawl, 
how  Monument  once  had  great  hopes.  Then 
there  had  been  a  dozen  Waldorf s  in  full  swing. 


190  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

The  smelter  had  been  built,  and  shafts  sunk  in 
the  red-brown  hills  behind  the  town. 
;  "The  Melody  Mine?" 

"That's  what  they  called  it,  and  it's  as  good  a 
mine  as  there  ever  was  in  Arizony  —  better  ore 
than  the  El  Verde  ever  had  —  more  money  in  it 
than  three  El  Verdes  rolled  into  one,  I  say  ! " 

"Gold?" 

The  old  man  spat  contemptuously  at  a  ven 
turesome  lizard. 

"Gold  !     Hell,  no  —  copper  !     High-grade  ore." 

"What  was  the  matter  ?" 

"Them  panic  times  came  along,  and  the  fellow 
that  owned  the  Melody  went  broke.  He  went 
back  to  Frisco.  I  always  expected  him  to  ride 
into  camp  some  day,  when  the  panic  was  over, 
hitch  down  there  at  the  Waldorf,  and  sing  out, 
*  Howdy,  Steve  ! '  and  things  would  begin  to  hum 
once  more.  But  he  never  come  back.  Guess 
it's  likely  he  ain't  made  good  out  in  California." 

"Perhaps  he's  dead  now,"  Brainard  sug 
gested. 

"P'r'aps  —  but  some  other  feller  will  work  the 
mine,  one  of  these  days.  Copper's  booming  all 
over  the  world,  you  understand.  I'm  waiting 
for  that  day!" 

The  old  man  spat  meditatively. 

"What  is  that  large  house  on  the  hill  ?"  Brain- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  191 

ard  asked,  pointing  to  the  lonely  mansion  beyond 
the  town. 

"That's  where  the  old  man  lived  —  Krutz- 
macht's  house,"  he  replied.  "He  used  to  live 
there  with  his  folks." 

"He  had  a  family,  then?"  Brainard  inquired 
quickly. 

"Some  said  she  warn't  really  his  wife  —  couldn't 
be,  because  she  had  a  husband  where  she  came 
from,  back  East.  I  don't  know.  I  never  asked 
him.  Folks  always  talk,  you  understand.  Well, 
she's  dead  now.  The  old  man  left  her  here  when 
he  went  away.  She  stayed  on  with  the  girl  — " 

"With  what  girl?" 

"Her  darter,  stranger  —  not  his,  I  guess.  She 
was  a  scraggly  little  black-haired  thing,  more  like 
a  boy." 

Brainard  smiled  as  his  young  man's  dream  of  a 
beautiful  heroine,  with  aristocratic  manners  and 
gracious  character,  crumbled  at  the  miner's  touch. 

"She  used  to  ride  all  over  the  place  on  her  pony 
— she  was  a  wild  sort.  Sometime  after  her  mother 
died,  she  disappeared." 

"Where  did  she  go?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Nobody  could  tell.  One  night,  a  month  or 
more  ago,  she  just  rode  off  on  the  trail.  I  seed 
her  going  down  there  at  a  run  on  her  pony,  and 


192  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

she  never  came  back.  PYaps  she  was  going  to 
look  for  Krutzmacht.  They  caught  the  pony 
over  by  Phantom,  but  nothing  has  been  heard  of 
her  since." 

"Melody—" 

"Yes,  that  was  her  name,  stranger!"  the  old 
miner  said  with  a  look  of  surprise.  "Melody 
White  !  How  did  you  come  to  know  it  ?  " 

"I  must  have  guessed  it,"  Brainard  replied 
with  a  smile. 

"The  mine  was  named  after  her,  or  she  after  the 
mine ;  I  don't  know  which." 

Brainard  stared  out  into  the  grim  Arizona  land 
scape,  before  which  rose  the  deserted  mansion. 
There  was  a  Melody !  He  had  never  really 
doubted  her  existence,  but  this  assurance  of  his 
conviction  pleased  him,  even  though  she  might 
not  be  all  that  his  ardent  fancy  had  imagined. 

"And  now  the  house  is  empty,  same  as  the 
mine,  and  I  dunno  what  will  become  of  it  all. 
Sold  for  taxes,  I  expect,  if  they  can  git  any  one  to 
buy  it!" 

They  strolled  up  the  road  in  the  direction  of 
the  house  upon  the  hill.  The  austere  dusk  of  the 
desert  was  settling  over  the  dreary  habitations  of 
Monument.  Far  away  along  the  horizon  purple 
mountains  lifted  their  heads  in  grandeur. 

The  house  was  so  placed  that  it  gave  a  large 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  193 

view  of  the  horizon  from  the  mountains  to  the 
distant  rim  of  the  desert  and  again  to  mountains. 
Close  beneath,  in  wide  folds,  the  river  bed  wound 
its  serpent  course  westward  into  the  dusk.  Before 
the  broad  southern  veranda  there  were  signs  of 
old  flower  beds,  which  had  once  been  cherished 
with  precious  water  brought  in  iron  pipes  from  the 
river  below.  The  great  white  pillars  had  peeled 
their  one  coat  of  paint,  and  underfoot  the  sun- 
dried  boards  rattled. 

The  scene  was  large  and  grand,  but  inhumanly 
empty  —  as  empty  as  the  great  house  itself. 
No  wonder  that  the  young  girl,  her  mother  dead, 
had  fled  from  this  parched  desert  and  these  bony 
mountains  in  search  of  the  world  of  men  and 
women,  in  search  of  life  ! 

"Kind  of  lonesome  here  ?"  the  miner  observed. 

"It's  like  death!" 

"But  you  get  used  of  it,  same  as  death.  .  .  . 
She  and  her  mother  stayed  here  by  themselves 
after  the  old  man  went,  and  I  guess  the  girl  had 
enough  of  it." 

"How  old  was  she,  do  you  think  ?" 

The  old  miner  wrinkled  his  brows  thoughtfully. 

"She  must  have  been  nigh  on  sixteen,"  he  said. 
"She  warn't  quite  ten  when  Krutzmacht  left." 

This  girl  of  "nigh  on  sixteen"  had  gone  forth 
alone  in  search  of  the  stepfather,  who  for  long 


194  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

years   had    left    her   and    her    mother   neglected 
here. 

"Don't  you  want  to  see  the  house?  Krutz- 
macht  fixed  it  up  real  elegant  —  carpets  and  ma 
hogany  stuff.  Nothing  like  it  in  this  country." 

The  old  man  pressed  against  the  warped  door, 
which  yielded  after  a  slight  resistance.  An  odor 
of  warm,  musty  air  from  the  empty  dwelling 
filled  the  lofty  hall,  which  was  quite  bare.  The 
miner  opened  a  door  leading  to  a  western  room. 

"They  lived  mostly  in  here,"  he  said. 

On  the  floor  was  a  thick  Oriental  rug,  and  there 
were  several  pieces  of  handsome  furniture,  es 
pecially  a  massive,  old-fashioned  mahogany  writ 
ing  desk  and  a  large  divan.  On  the  divan  lay  a 
quirt  and  a  woman's  cloak,  as  if  they  had  been 
thrown  there  carelessly  the  day  before. 

The  dust  of  the  desert  had  already  settled  on 
the  rug,  the  desk,  the  table,  and  the  chairs. 
Nevertheless,  the  room  presented  a  singularly 
living  look,  such  as  only  the  life  of  people  with 
certain  habits  and  education  can  impress  upon  an 
abiding  place.  Brainard  felt  as  if  he  had  entered 
a  drawing-room  whose  mistress  had  left  it  in  the 
care  of  neglectful  servants. 

Beside  the  window  a  small  piano  stood  open, 
with  a  piece  of  music  on  the  rack.  Some  dead 
stalks  of  flowers  drooped  from  a  vase,  and  on  the 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  195 

hearth  lay  a  charred  log.  Among  the  spools  and 
pieces  of  cloth  on  a  worktable  was  a  drawing 
board,  to  which  was  fastened  a  water-color  sketch. 
A  brush,  carelessly  dropped,  had  stained  one 
corner  of  the  sketch  with  a  blotch  of  red.  Brain- 
ard  looked  at  the  water  color  with  some  curiosity. 
It  was  a  young  girl's  attempt  to  seize  the  barbaric 
splendor  of  the  arid  plain  outside  of  the  window, 
fringed  with  ranges  of  savage  mountains,  lighted 
by  the  fire  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  two  men  went  up  the  broad  staircase  with 
its  white-painted  handrail.  Only  one  of  the 
bedrooms  had  been  recently  occupied  —  the  one 
in  the  southwestern  corner,  facing  the  winding 
river.  There  a  dresser  drawer  was  pulled  out,  as 
if  it  had  been  rifled  by  hasty  hands. 

"Seems  as  if  they  were  really  coming  back 
agin!"  the  old  miner  remarked,  feeling  the  per 
sonal  touch  of  occupancy.  "They  allus  kep'  to 
themselves.  You  see,  they  didn't  really  belong," 
he  added,  as  if  in  explanation. 

Brainard  went  back  into  the  living  room  once 
more,  and  examined  the  water-color  sketch.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  this  rough  sketch  was  like  a 
sign  left  for  him.  It  breathed  the  passion  and  the 
longing  of  the  girl  hidden  away  in  this  lonely 
corner  of  the  earth.  He  detached  it  gently  from 
the  board,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket.  Then,  with 


196  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

another  glance  around  the  deserted  room,  he 
followed  his  guide  out  upon  the  veranda. 

While  the  old  man  busied  himself  carefully 
shutting  up  the  place,  Brainard  leaned  against 
one  of  the  white  pillars  and  stared  into  the  gray 
evening  that  had  stolen  over  the  plain.  She  had 
gone  —  the  mistress  whom  he  had  tried  to  serve 
so  faithfully.  She  had  disappeared  into  that  vast, 
gray  outer  world,  that  the  twilight  was  gradually 
covering. 

All  the  way  across  the  ocean  and  the  land,  and 
especially  on  the  blazing  trail  over  the  alkali 
plain  from  Defiance,  he  had  pictured  to  himself 
the  woman  he  hoped  to  find  at  the  end  of  his  jour 
ney.  He  had  imagined  his  interview  with  her, 
her  emotions  of  surprise  and  delight,  when  he 
accounted  for  the  fortune  he  was  bringing  her. 
At  first  she  had  been  but  a  name,  then  an  idea, 
and  this  idea  had  gradually  assumed,  in  his  im 
agination,  the  vivid  sense  of  personality.  But 
somehow,  in  all  his  speculation,  he  had  never 
contemplated  this  !  She  lived,  but  she  had  just 
flitted  forth  —  whither  ? 

Suddenly  it  came  over  him  that  there  was  no 
clear  next  step.  For  the  first  time  since  he  had 
obeyed  Krutzmacht's  will  and  taken  the  train 
westward  for  San  Francisco,  his  spirit  was  damp 
ened,  and  in  the  gray  evening  a  weight  of  depres- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  197 

sion  fell  upon  him.  For  the  moment  he  had  no 
will,  no  plan.  That  which  had  held  all  his  acts 
together  and  made  them  reasonable  to  himself  had 
vanished. 

Yet  the  girl  had  left  behind  her  an  impression 
—  a  sense  of  being  some  one,  a  person  —  which 
he  had  never  had  completely  before.  Somewhere 
in  the  universe  there  really  was  a  young  creature 
with  the  strange  name  of  Melody  White,  to  whom 
belonged  sundry  important  properties  now  in  his 
possession.  It  was  clearly  his  business  to  find 
her  if  he  could  !  .  .  . 

The  old  miner  came  stamping  over  the  loose 
boards  of  the  veranda. 

"The  place  will  sure  drop  to  pieces,  like  all  the 
rest,"  he  observed,  "if  something  ain't  done  to  it 
mighty  quick/' 

"Where  do  you  suppose  she  went  ?"  the  young 
man  asked  abruptly. 

"The  girl?  Goodness  only  knows.  P'r'aps 
she  went  to  her  mother's  folks,  or  p'r'aps  out  to 
the  coast  after  him  —  who  can  tell  ?  'Twould 
be  like  hunting  for  a  young  rabbit  out  there!" 
He  nodded  toward  the  gray  plain. 

By  the  time  that  Brainard  reached  the  Waldorf, 
the  landlady  had  roused  herself,  and  she  undertook 
to  provide  the  traveler  with  food  and  room.  After 
disposing  of  John  Chinaman's  fried  steak  and 


198  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

liver-colored  pie,  he  went  forth  again  into  Monu 
ment,  seeking  further  information  about  the  former 
occupants  of  the  mansion  beyond  the  town.  But 
nothing  was  known  of  the  two  women  except  the 
vague  rumor  that  the  mother  had  come  originally 
from  "Louisiany  way."  She  had  held  herself 
apart  from  the  little  community,  and  most  of  the 
present  inhabitants  of  the  place,  it  seemed,  were 
derelicts  who  had  gathered  there  after  the  closing 
of  the  mine.  All  the  vital  population  had  taken 
the  trail  back  to  the  railroad  shortly  after  Krutz- 
macht's  disappearance  from  the  scene. 

"Faith,  I  knew  the  gurl,"  admitted  Kate,  of 
the  Waldorf.  "A  queer  wan  she  was,  too,  ridin' 
around  by  night  and  singin'  loud  up  there  in  the 
big,  lonely  house.  When  you  heard  her  singin'  in 
the  dark,  it  would  frighten  the  heart  in  you  !" 

But  more  positive  information  the  landlady  did 
not  possess.  When  Brainard  went  to  his  hot  room 
for  the  night,  he  felt  "lonesome,"  as  the  miner 
had  said  —  as  if  some  one  had  missed  an  appoint 
ment  with  him  here  in  the  Arizona  desert. 

The  more  he  thought  about  the  description  the 
old  miner  had  given  him,  the  date  of  her  final  de 
parture,  the  more  he  became  convinced  that  he 
had  seen  this  elusive  Melody  that  night  at  Phan 
tom  when  he  had  dropped  from  the  Santa  Fe  train 
and  practically  thrown  himself  upon  the  girl's 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  199 

good  nature  to  guide  him  into  safety.  He  was  so 
preoccupied  with  his  own  danger  at  the  time,  and 
the  loss  of  his  precious  bag,  that  he  had  not  given 
much  thought  to  the  girl,  had  not  even  remembered 
the  talk  about  Krutzmacht's  mining  venture  in 
Arizona  until  later.  So  he  had  passed  her  in  the 
dark  almost  at  the  start  of  his  adventure  —  the 
one  whom  now  he  was  seeking  in  a  circle  ! 

Even  then,  in  all  probability,  she  had  planned 
her  flight,  —  he  remembered  how  evasive  she  had 
been  in  reply  to  his  blunt  questions,  —  and  she 
had  left  not  long  afterwards,  within  a  few  days, 
as  far  as  he  could  make  out.  Yes,  that  must  be 
Melody  White,  —  the  girl  "nigh  on  sixteen,"  the 
shy  little  girl  with  the  appealing  Southern  accent, 
who  had  seemed  to  him  so  lonely  sitting  her 
yellow  pony  among  the  cactus  as  the  night  fell 
on  the  desert.  His  imagination  fastened  strongly 
on  this  belief,  for  it  gave  him  fresh  courage  and 
purpose.  If  she  were  a  being  of  flesh  and  blood 
four  weeks  before,  she  must  be  somewhere  now. 
It  was  his  business  to  find  her.  Probably  she  had 
gone  first  to  San  Francisco  in  search  of  Krutz- 
macht ;  but  when  she  had  learned  of  his  death, 
where  had  she  gone  ?  At  any  rate  California  was 
the  place  from  which  to  start  the  long  trail. 

And  a  long  trail,  indeed,  it  might  prove  —  the 
search  for  a  wild  young  girl  on  her  first  journey 
into  the  wide  world. 


XXI 

IN  the  morning,  when  he  descended  to  the  bar 
room  of  the  Waldorf  in  search  of  nourishment, 
the  old  miner  greeted  him. 

"I  thought,"  he  said  suggestively,  "maybe 
you'd  like  to  see  the  mine.  The  Limited  don't 
reach  Defiance  until  evenin'.  The  mine  ain't 
but  a  little  ways  out  from  here.  You  might  be 
interested  in  lookin'  it  over." 

"All  right!"  Brainard  exclaimed.  "Let's  see 
the  mine."  He  had  been  so  much  preoccupied 
with  Melody,  the  girl,  that  he  had  altogether  for 
gotten  about  Krutzmacht's  interest  in  the  Melody 
mine.  "How  far  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"About  three  miles  back  in  the  hills.  The  old 
man  was  building  a  trolley  from  the  mine  to  the 
smelter  here  beside  the  river." 

The  miner  pointed  out  the  rusty  rails  and 
bleached  sleepers  of  the  trolley  road  as  their  horses 
picked  the  way  over  the  rough  ground  up  to  the 
opening  of  the  main  shaft  of  the  mine. 

"Defiance  lies  off  there,"  the  miner  said,  point 
ing  to  the  blue  horizon,  "twenty-five  miles  in  a 
straight  line  north.  He  meant  to  run  a  railroad 

200 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  201 

right  across  the  sagebrush.  It's  down  grade  all 
the  way,  so  the  cars  could  go  out  by  gravity. 
They  reckoned  on  gettin'  power  for  the  trolley 
from  the  river,  by  damming  it  above  the  smelter." 

"It  was  to  be  developed  on  a  big  scale  !"  Brain- 
ard  exclaimed,  impressed  by  the  scope  of  Krutz- 
macht's  plans. 

"You  bet!"  the  miner  agreed.  "It  ain't  no 
use  to  do  things  in  a  small  way  in  this  country. 
Krutzmacht  knew  that." 

Brainard  scanned  the  steep,  savage  mountains 
above  the  shaft.  They  were  devoid  of  all  vege 
tation  on  the  lower  slopes,  dull  brown  in  color, 
with  their  flanks  seamed  by  little  gullies.  Be 
hind,  the  higher  peaks  lifted  their  heads  in  broken 
lines  of  serrated  edges;  and  in  the  far  distance, 
glittering  in  the  cloudless  sky,  were  snowy  tips  of 
dazzling  white. 

The  miner  picked  up  a  piece  of  purplish  ore 
from  the  pile  heaped  high  about  the  mouth  of  the 
shaft. 

"Look  at  that !"  he  said  admiringly.  "There's 
enough  ore  of  that  sort  right  under  our  feet  to  pay 
almost  to  tote  it  out  to  Defiance.  And  they  had 
just  scratched  the  surface,  here  and  there.  The 
old  man  didn't  reckon  to  begin  mining  until  he 
had  things  fixed  right." 

They  descended  from  the  ore  pile  and  proceeded 


202  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

to  the  entrance  of  the  main  shaft.  It  was  clut 
tered  with  timber  and  abandoned  machinery,  some 
of  which  had  never  been  installed.  They  spent 
a  couple  of  hours  examining  the  mine,  stumbling 
about  the  dark  tunnels  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
which  the  old  miner  had  brought,  looking  at  the 
ore  bodies  already  exposed,  ready  to  be  worked. 

When  at  last  they  emerged  into  the  dazzling 
sunlight,  and  were  resting,  Brainard  remarked 
wonderingly : 

"It's  queer  that  a  man  like  Krutzmacht  should 
have  abandoned  a  large  property  such  as  this, 
when  he  had  gone  so  far  with  it." 

"He  hain't  abandoned  it,  I  tell  you.  He  paid 
the  taxes  up  to  last  year.  It  takes  an  awful  sight 
of  money,  stranger,  to  develop  a  big  mine  so  far 
from  the  railroad.  Krutzmacht 's  pile  wasn't  big 
enough,  and  he  wasn't  the  kind  who'd  take  any 
body  in  with  him.  All  or  nothing  for  him  —  that 
was  his  way.  So  he  went  back  to  California  to  get 
his  stake.  If  he's  alive  still,  he'll  be  coming  in 
here  some  day  ready  to  work  this  bonanza  !" 

"I  am  afraid  that  will  never  be,"  Brainard  said 
slowly.  "Krutzmacht  died  in  New  York  two 
months  ago." 

The  miner  stared  in  astonishment,  exclaiming 
at  last : 

"Well,  well!     So  the  old  man  died  before  he 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  203 

made  good!"  Brainard  nodded.  "Maybe  you 
are  looking  at  the  property  for  yourself  ?" 

"Do  I  look  like  a  miner  ?  No,  I  came  to  Monu 
ment  to  find  out  if  the  old  man  left  an  heir." 

"I  reckon  the  only  folks  he  had  was  that  girl 
and  her  mother,  and  one  is  dead  and  the  other 
gone  goodness  knows  where,"  the  old  miner  re 
plied.  "So  the  Melody  mine  don't  belong  to 
nobody  now !" 

"It  belongs  to  that  girl,  if  we  can  find  her." 

"It  may  be  sold  for  taxes  before  that." 

"Then  I'll  buy  it  in,"  Brainard  said  promptly. 

They  ate  the  bread  and  bacon  they  had  brought 
with  them  for  lunch  under  a  pine  tree  on  a  slope 
of  the  steep  hill  above  the  mine.  The  old  miner 
shook  his  head  from  time  to  time,  and  muttered 
to  himself  over  the  strange  dispensations  of  Prov 
idence  that  left  a  rich  mine  like  the  Melody 
abandoned.  Brainard  thought  of  the  girl  who  had 
escaped  him,  and  planned  vaguely  what  his  next 
steps  should  be. 

"There's  an  old  crater  up  among  them  hills," 
the  miner  vouchsafed,  when  the  last  slice  of  bacon 
and  bread  had  disappeared,  "and  some  sulfur 
springs.  There's  another  fortune,  maybe,  if  you 
could  get  at  the  sulfur." 

"I'll  take  a  look  at  it,"  Brainard  said.  "How 
do  you  go?" 


204  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

And  so,  while  the  old  man  turned  back  to  look 
after  their  horses,  which  they  had  left  tethered  far 
below,  Brainard  clambered  on  among  the  sharp 
peaks  toward  the  snow  beds  that  lay  in  drifts 
along  the  ragged  edge  of  the  mountains.  He 
passed  the  circular  depression  of  which  the  miner 
had  spoken,  and  noticed  the  yellow  crust  upon  the 
earth ;  but  for  a  long  time  he  kept  on  upward.  He 
wanted  to  be  alone,  to  think  over  a  certain  daring 
idea  that  had  seized  hold  of  him  while  the  miner 
was  showing  him  the  neglected  riches  of  the 
Melody  mine.  Perhaps  the  keen  mountain  air, 
blowing  dry  and  fresh  from  the  desert  below,  had 
its  part  in  stirring  his  brain  to  unwonted  excite 
ment.  Perhaps  it  was  the  reaction  from  his  dis 
appointment  of  the  evening  before  in  not  finding 
his  young  mistress  waiting  to  receive  her  fortune. 
However  that  might  be,  his  idea  kept  teasing 
him,  expanding  all  the  time  in  reasonableness  and 
urgency. 

Why  should  he  not  take  up  Krutzmacht's  pur 
pose  —  use  part  of  the  money  he  had  obtained  from 
the  bankers  in  developing  this  great  property  ? 
While  he  was  prosecuting  the  search  for  the 
young  girl,  which  he  foresaw  might  take  much 
time,  might  indeed  end  in  failure,  this  work  would 
give  a  new  incentive,  a  new  meaning  to  his  long 
adventure. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  205 

"Give  it  all  to  Melody!"  the  old  adventurer 
had  whispered  with  his  last  breath.  Yes,  all  to 
Melody  in  one  form  or  another,  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  would  dive  deeper  than  the  letter  of  Krutz 
macht 's  word  —  he  would  do  as  the  old  man  might 
have  done  himself,  if  his  life  had  gone  on.  He 
would  fulfill  his  inmost  purposes. 

He  had  humor  enough  to  smile  at  his  own  daring. 
"One  Edgar  Brainard,"  as  he  had  described  him 
self  to  Krutzmacht,  unsuccessful  playwright, 
scrub  of  the  city  streets,  to  run  a  mine  !  But  why 
not?  For  that  old  self,  that  "one  Edgar  Brain 
ard,"  buffeted,  discouraged  human  chip  on  the 
muddy  surface  of  the  stream  of  life,  had  com 
pletely  disappeared,  never  again  to  exist,  he 
earnestly  hoped.  These  eventful  weeks  of  vital 
living,  constant  and  quick  decision,  of  prompt, 
forceful  execution,  of  vivid  feeling  and  yet  calm 
self-reliance,  had  made  a  totally  other  man  of 
him  —  one  whose  possibility  he  had  never  sus 
pected,  but  one  whom  he  liked  and  respected  an 
infinite  deal  more  than  that  old,  familiar  "one 
Edgar  Brainard." 

Thanks  to  Krutzmacht  and  the  elusive  Melody, 
he  could  never  again  become  the  timid,  inefficient 
struggler  earning  his  precarious  crust  of  bread  by 
humiliating  tasks,  dreaming  futile  dreams  and 
putting  them  into  equally  futile  words.  He  had 


206  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

tasted  of  life,  action,  power,  and  he  found  them 
sweet.  He  would  not  resign  them  !  Thus  Krutz- 
macht  had  bestowed  on  the  chance  stranger  who 
had  befriended  him  in  his  last  need  more  than 
those  millions  he  was  leaving  to  Melody. 

His  rapid  thoughts  swept  over  these  last  weeks. 
Everything  in  them,  it  seemed,  had  prepared  the 
way  for  this  decision,  had  fitted  him  to  dare,  to 
take  the  responsibility.  If  it  had  confronted  him 
a  month  before,  when  he  and  Melody  had  passed 
each  other  unknown,  he  would  not  have  been 
ready ;  if  it  had  come  a  fortnight  before  while  he 
was  in  Paris,  he  would  not  have  risen  to  the 
opportunity.  It  had  come  Now,  at  the  fertile 
moment.  .  .  .  His  thin,  weak  body  had  filled 
out,  just  as  his  harassed  face  had  taken  on  firm 
lines  of  real  manhood.  He  was  no  longer  afraid  of 
life,  nor  of  any  of  its  chances.  He  would  act  for 
this  girl  as  he  would  act  for  himself ;  he  would  be 
her  trustee,  her  faithful  servant,  and  the  guardian 
of  her  property  until  such  time  as  it  could  be 
given  into  her  hands.  And  the  idle  millions 
should  set  about  their  proper  task  of  breeding 
more  millions. 

At  this  point  in  his  thinking  he  gave  a  boyish 
whoop  that  even  caught  the  ear  of  the  old  miner 
below  and  made  him  look  up.  Brainard  waved 
his  hat  and  laughed  from  the  glorious  fun  of  it 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  207 

all,  —  the  risk  and  the  joy   of  life,  —  living  at 
last !  .  .  .  y 

As  was  characteristic  of  the  new  man,  having 
projected  an  idea,  committed  himself  to  a  decision, 
his  mind  at  once  bent  quickly  to  filling  in  the  de 
tails  of  the  pattern  in  action.  He  should  go  to 
morrow  across  the  mountains  to  look  for  his  old 
friend  Gunnison,  to  learn  what  more  he  could,  if 
anything,  about  the  girl's  sudden  departure. 
Gunnison  might  also  give  him  information  of 
value  concerning  the  mine.  Then  he  should  take 
the  evening  train  for  San  Francisco,  and  there 
first  of  all  he  would  look  up  the  friendly  reporter 
Farson,  to  enlist  his  aid  in  the  search  for  the  girl. 
In  this  he  must  exercise  great  caution,  because 
San  Francisco  might  not  yet  be  a  perfectly  salu 
brious  climate  for  him,  nor  did  he  wish  to  stir 
cupidinous  desires  in  the  breasts  of  possible  claim 
ants  to  Krutzmacht's  fortune.  What  he  should 
do  afterwards  was  not  clear  as  yet,  but  he  thought 
that  Farson  might  be  helpful  in  suggesting  the 
best  methods  for  prosecuting  such  a  search  as  was 
before  him.  Hollinger,  if  he  had  returned  to  the 
States,  might  also  be  useful.  He  would  willingly 
confide  in  the  "fight- trust  magnate. "  In  any  case 
he  should  try  to  find  the  grizzled  miner  from 
Union,  —  just  why,  he  could  not  say.  But  he  felt 
that  the  old  man  who  had  searched  fortune  in  the 


208  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

earth  for  thirty  years  might  be  useful  in  "hand 
ling  the  Melody  proposition."  He  would  run 
across  him  either  at  the  Palace  in  San  Francisco  or, 
if  not  there,  could  stop  at  Winnemucca  on  his  way 
east  and  make  the  journey  to  Union.  He  had  the 
man's  name  written  down  somewhere.  And  then 
he  must  call  for  that  trunk  in  Chicago,  in  which 
he  hoped  to  find  the  title  deeds  to  the  mine  and 
other  interesting  documents.  There  was  much  to 
be  done,  and  to  be  done  speedily.  Yet  he  felt 
no  haste,  no  nervous  anxiety  to  be  adoing.  Time 
for  thought  was  needed  also.  .  .  . 

So  he  climbed  on  rapidly  toward  the  glittering 
banks  of  snow  until  he  reached  a  small  plateau 
gleaming  like  a  jeweled  robe  in  the  sunlight. 
Beneath  him  lay  the  little  valley  about  the  shaft, 
scarred  by  the  ore  pits  with  their  abandoned  rock 
piles.  Far  down,  the  old  miner  was  leading  the 
horses  from  the  shed  where  they  had  been  tied. 
Above  beckoned  the  peaks,  reaching  into  the 
steely  heavens  like  naked  icicles.  A  broad- winged 
bird  circled  majestically,  tracing  its  dark  shadow 
on  the  gleaming  snow  field,  as  with  a  brush. 

Not  a  sound  upon  the  earth  nor  in  the  sky  !  A 
broad,  deep  silence  !  The  clear  light,  the  lofty 
peaks  pointing  heavenward  —  nothing  more,  ex 
cept  his  own  beating  heart ! 

The  man  stood  there  in  the  immense  silence, 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  209 

his  soul  poised  like  the  hawk  above  his  petty 
world,  surveying  in  one  swift  rush  of  thought  that 
little  self  of  his  past,  with  its  small  ambitions  and 
desires.  Up  to  this  level  the  road  that  Krutz- 
macht  had  opened  for  him  had  led. 

He  gazed  steadily  upward  into  the  wonderful 
sea  of  blue  sky,  deeper  than  the  blue  depth  of  the 
Gulf  Stream,  above  the  snowy  peaks,  beyond 
the  world,  into  his  future.  What  he  saw  there 
was  a  vision  of  will,  man's  will.  He  was  all  will 
—  a  vitalized  mass  of  glorious  energy  to  conceive, 
to  create,  to  do  ! 

He  laughed  in  the  cloudless  amplitude  of  snow 
and  blue  heavens,  laughed  at  the  small  self  he  had 
left  behind,  writing  play  pieces,  making  tiny  scenes 
for  a  tiny  stage.  The  world  was  the  great  stage 
upon  which  he  would  present  his  masterpiece  ! 
Krutzmacht  had  played  on  that  stage,  and  Brain- 
ard  had  helped  him  to  put  up  a  rousing  melodrama 
at  the  close.  His  own  play  thereon  should  be 
something  different. 

Krutzmacht's  will  had  made  the  fortune;  his 
will  should  take  it,  if  need  be,  reshape  it,  and  speed 
it  to  some  more  perfect  end  than  the  old  buccaneer 
of  the  West  had  ever  dreamed  of.  Where  Krutz 
macht's  will  had  ended,  his  will  would  start. 

There  rose,  too,  a  vision  of  art  as  he  had  felt 
it  in  Paris  at  dawn,  beneath  the  towers  of  the 


210  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

old  cathedral.  And  sweetly  the  two  united  in  his 
fecund  mind.  He  laughed  softly  in  the  joy  of 
this  vision,  and  his  laugh  tinkled  strangely  among 
the  silent  mountain  peaks.  Throwing  up  his 
head  to  the  dazzling  rampart  of  snow  that  broke 
the  wavering  azure  lines  of  the  heavens,  he  ex 
claimed  : 

"That,  too,  will  come  true!  That  will  be! 
We'll  make  life  our  stage,  and  write  the  play  in 
life,  as  God  writes  upon  the  snows  up  here.  That 
is  creation  !" 

Brainard  could  see  the  old  man  below  holding 
the  horses  by  their  bridles  and  shielding  his  eyes 
with  his  free  hand,  as  he  searched  for  his  compan 
ion.  And  faintly,  very  thinly,  through  the  valley 
came  the  old  man's  hail. 

Brainard  gave  a  last,  lingering  look  to  the  im 
mensity  above,  beyond,  around  him  —  the  place 
where  his  great  idea  had  been  born.  Then  he 
turned  his  steps  downward,  the  light  of  distant 
thoughts  in  his  eyes,  a  smile  upon  his  lips  which 
said: 

"I  have  seen.     Now  to  do!" 

"You  will  meet  me  again  before  long,"  he  said 
to  the  old  miner,  when  they  parted.  "And  then 
we'll  make  the  Melody  sing  !" 


PART  II 
MELODY 


"So  that's  why  I  missed  you  in  San  Francisco 
four  years  ago!"  Brainard  exclaimed.  "Because 
you  wanted  to  write  a  play  !" 

He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  as  if  the 
idea  was  peculiarly  ironical. 

"Yes  !"  the  ex-reporter  Parson  replied,  with  an 
echo  of  Brainard's  irony.  "You  see  I  had  always 
meant  to  be  a  playwright  and  took  to  reporting 
to  make  a  living.  When  you  came  along  and  gave 
me  that  five  hundred  for  helping  you  crack  the 
safe  and  get  away  with  the  contents,  I  chucked 
the  newspaper  job  and  moved  on  to  Broadway  — 
been  here  ever  since." 

"Well,  how  has  it  gone  ?" 

Farson's  face  wrinkled  comically. 

"I  haven't  quite  persuaded  Broadway  that  I 
am  another  Sardou.  In  fact  the  only  creation  of 
mine  that  ever  saw  the  footlights  is  a  melodrama, 
founded  on  our  adventures  that  evening  in  Frisco. 
And  I  sold  that  for  fifty  dollars  to  a  western 
syndicate.  I  have  never  heard  from  it  since.  I 
need  hardly  say  it  does  not  satisfy  my  aspirations." 

213 


214  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"So  you  went  back  to  reporting  ?" 

"Of  a  kind,"  the  young  man  replied  with  a 
sudden  attempt  to  become  important.  "I  am  on 
the  staff  of  Bunker's  Magazine." 

"And   they  sent  you  here  to  interview  me!" 

Brainard  laughed  again. 

"Bunker's  thought  that  the  public  would  be 
interested  in  your  rapid  rise  into  the  limelight,  and 
as  I  had  some  experience  in  the  great  West  they 
sent  me  to  extract  from  you  the  crude  ore  of  a 
personal  document  article,"  Farson  explained  with 
engaging  impudence,  glancing  appreciatively  at 
his  subject. 

The  interview  happened  to  take  place  in  the 
parlor  of  a  suite  in  the  same  large  hotel  on  Fifth 
Avenue  from  which  almost  exactly  four  years 
before  Brainard  had  slunk  away  with  the  manu 
script  of  his  rejected  play  in  his  pocket,  and  had 
thence  wended  his  way  disconsolately  homeward 
to  meet  the  fate  that  whirled  him  on  during  four 
years  of  exciting  adventure.  Numerous  trunks 
and  other  impedimenta  cluttered  the  room,  in 
dicating  that  the  miner,  who  in  the  words  of  Far- 
son  "had  succeeded  in  climbing  into  the  limelight" 
had  but  just  arrived  from  Arizona  and  did  not  yet 
know  that  he  needed  a  man  servant. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  roar  of  the 
traffic  on  the  avenue,  so  long  unfamiliar  to  the 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  215 

miner's  ears.  He  rose  from  the  table,  where  over  a 
bottle  of  wine  he  had  been  telling  the  magazine 
man  something  about  the  wonderful  Melody  mine, 
and  gazed  out  of  the  window  into  the  seething 
stream  of  humanity  below.  This  unexpected 
meeting  with  the  reporter  of  the  Despatch  who  had 
helped  him  in  his  first  exploit  with  Krutzmacht's 
fortune  had  brought  to  his  memory  sharply  the 
great  contrast  between  his  last  appearance  in 
New  York  and  the  present. 

His  face,  now  adorned  by  a  mustache  and  a 
short  brown  beard,  which  the  hotel  barber  had 
not  yet  had  an  opportunity  to  trim  to  an  artistic 
point,  was  reddened  and  roughened  by  exposure 
to  the  fierce  Arizona  sun.  His  hands  were  large 
and  coarse,  as  if  they  had  handled  every  instru 
ment  but  the  pen.  His  whole  person  had  filled 
out  solidly,  and  he  walked  with  the  awkward  gait 
of  one  accustomed  to  the  saddle  rather  than  the 
motor  car.  But  what  occupied  his  mind  at  this 
moment  was  the  curious  consciousness  of  that 
other  self,  so  vastly  different,  so  inconceivably 
discouraged  and  weak,  whom  he  could  see  down 
below  on  the  pavement,  dragging  his  thin  body 
through  the  April  mist.  Whole  worlds  separated 
the  two  !  .  .  . 

The  magazine  man  disturbed  his  revery  by  a 
question. 


216  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"You  went  out  there  after  copper  in  the  first 
place,  didn't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  Brainard  said,  turning  with  a  twinkle 
in  his  eyes,  "I  went  after  copper  and  got  sulfur 
instead  !  That  often  happens  in  life." 

"You  went  out  there  as  a  rank  greenhorn," 
Farson  translated,  "and  come  back  as  the  chief 
representative  on  this  earth  of  his  satanic  majesty, 
—  the  Sulfur  King." 

"The  Sulfur  King  !"  Brainard  repeated  with  an 
appreciative  chuckle.  "That's  good.  Are  you 
going  to  write  me  up  for  Bunker's  as  the  Sulfur 
King?" 

"You  had  rather  have  me  do  that  than  play  you 
up  as  a  successful  safe-breaker  ?" 

Farson  looked  at  the  miner  with  admiration 
mixed  with  a  little  envy,  perhaps,  as  one  to  whom 
splendid  chances  of  living  had  come.  From  the 
professional  point  of  view  Brainard  would  make 
excellent  material  for  eulogy  as  type  of  "the  man 
who  does  things,"  so  ardently  beloved  by  maga 
zine  editors. 

"Do  whatever  you  like  with  me,"  Brainard 
remarked  slowly.  "You  couldn't  make  it  too 
wonderful,  —  nor  explain  it  all.  ...  Do  you 
know  that  four  years  ago,  just  at  nightfall  like 
this,  I  stood  out  there  in  the  crowd,  wondering 
how  I  could  best  spend  my  last  quarter  for  a  meal  ? 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  217 

I  never  dreamed  I  should  be  looking  down  from 
this  window  some  day  !" 

He  chuckled  quietly  to  himself  over  the  picture. 
The  magazine  man  pricked  his  ears  for  "the  human 
interest  note,"  divining  a  life  story,  and  hinted 
broadly : 

"What  really  put  you  into  mining,  after  you 
left  Frisco?" 

"How  did  I  get  to  Arizona?  Oh,  that's  a 
long  story.  I  went  by  way  of  Mexico  and 
Paris  and  New  York.  Help  yourself  to  another 
cigar." 

After  a  few  moments  he  added  in  a  less  joking 
tone,  —  "I  went  out  there  in  search  of  an  heir  to 
Krutzmacht's  property.  I  didn't  find  her  —  in 
stead  I  found  the  Melody  mine  !" 

"I'd  like  to  hear  that  story,"  Farson  said 
quickly,  with  the  keen  scent  of  the  old  newspaper 
man. 

Brainard  shook  his  head. 

"Not  to-day  —  perhaps  sometime.  .  .  .  But 
not  for  publication  —  that !  I've  given  you  one 
good  newspaper  scoop  four  years  ago,  and  this 
thing  for  your  magazine.  But  the  other  I'll  keep 
for  myself." 

Farson's  face  expressed  a  momentary  disappoint 
ment.  But  he  merely  remarked : 

"I've  often  wondered  about  you  ever  since  I 


218  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

helped  you  aboard  the  ferry  with  that  big  bag. 
Got  it  still?" 

"Yes,  what's  left  of  it."  .  .  . 

Frank  as  Brainard  had  become  under  the  in 
fluences  of  his  new  life  and  much  as  he  was  at 
tracted  by  the  careless,  good-humored  young  news 
paper  man,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  tell  him 
the  intimate  details  of  his  story,  which  in  his  feel 
ings  was  so  much  more  concerned  with  his  un 
known  mistress  than  with  himself.  Ever  since 
that  evening  when  he  had  stood  in  the  abandoned 
house  above  the  Arizona  desert,  surrounded  by 
the  mute  evidences  of  the  girl's  existence,  he  had 
prosecuted  vigorously  the  search  for  the  elusive 
Melody,  using  every  means  known  to  him  —  and 
all  in  vain.  There  had  been  no  clew  whatever 
that  led  beyond  the  railroad  tracks.  Neither  in 
San  Francisco,  where  he  had  looked  first,  nor  in 
New  Orleans,  where  he  had  gone  in  the  hope  of 
finding  some  trace  of  the  girl's  mother,  nor  in 
New  York,  where  the  old  German  was  well  known, 
could  he  learn  anything  definite  of  Krutzmacht's 
family  affairs.  There  were  many  who  had  known 
the  business  man,  but  as  sometimes  happens  the 
business  man  had  admitted  no  one  into  his  personal 
confidence. 

After  the  first  few  months  of  this  search,  when 
forced  finally  to  fall  back  upon  the  usual  devices  of 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  219 

advertising  and  employing  detectives,  Brainard 
returned  to  Monument,  —  the  spot  where  he  had 
found  and  lost  his  one  substantial  proof  of  the 
girl's  reality,  —  and  there  he  had  taken  up  the 
project  he  had  conceived  of  working  the  abandoned 
mine  until  some  heir  should  be  found.  Into  this 
project  he  had  thrown  himself  with  all  the  ardor 
of  his  newly  awakened  temperament  and  found  in 
the  struggles  that  ensued  a  relief  from  the  aimless 
hunting  for  the  lost  girl.  As  time  passed  with  no 
results  from  all  the  agencies  he  had  used  in  his 
search,  his  mind  became  less  occupied  with  the 
vision  of  his  unknown  mistress,  and  his  life  con 
centrated  itself  upon  this  accidental  undertaking, 
—  all  the  more  as  it  proved  unexpectedly  difficult 
and  failure  frequently  threatened.  His  pride  and 
good  faith  as  well  as  his  new  manhood  were  chal 
lenged  in  the  struggle,  which  had  only  quite  re 
cently  resulted  in  abounding  triumph.  Now 
that  he  was  free  to  look  about  him  again  and  direct 
his  energy  into  a  new  channel,  the  thought  of 
Melody  returned  to  haunt  his  mind.  One  of  his 
purposes  in  coming  to  New  York  was  to  start 
afresh  the  hopeless  search.  An  idea  came  to  him 
as  he  talked  with  Farson  about  the  mine.  Per 
haps  publicity  of  his  success  with  the  Melody 
mine  in  Arizona  might  attract  the  attention  of  the 
one  most  concerned.  With  this  thought  in  mind 


220  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

he  said  to  the  magazine  man,  turning  away  from 
the  window : 

"I'll  tell  you  all  you  want  to  know  about  the 
mine  — -  you  can  put  it  in  your  story." 

He  gave  him  a  lively  account  of  the  vicissitudes 
of  the  great  Melody  mine  at  Monument,  Arizona, 
and  his  experiences  with  it. 

"So,"  Farson  summed  up  at  the  end,  "the 
copper  gave  out  ?" 

Brainard  laughed. 

"I  should  say  not !  There  are  millions  of  tons 
of  copper  in  those  hills." 

"Then  what  was  the  trouble  ?" 

"It  cost  too  much  to  mine  and  smelt  it  at 
present  prices.  After  pouring  a  good  bit  of  money 
into  the  thing,  I  found  that  out.  The  sulfur 
looked  promising,  and  we  went  in  for  that;  but 
that,  too,  came  near  taking  our  last  dollar  before 
it  made  good." 

He  told  the  magazine  man  how  he  had  dis 
covered  traces  of  sulfur  in  an  old  crater  among 
the  hills,  had  made  tests,  and  had  found  that  the 
mineral  existed  in  great  quantities  and  almost 
pure.  But  when  they  went  after  it,  new  difficulties 
were  encountered  —  quicksands.  One  method 
after  another  was  tried  and  found  useless,  until 
the  experts  he  had  summoned  were  ready  to  give 
up  the  job.  Then,  almost  in  despair,  Brainard 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  221 

had  experimented  with  a  novel  method  of  extract 
ing  the  sulfur  by  pumping  steam  through  one  pipe 
into  the  earth  and  taking  the  solution  out  by 
another.  It  was  successful. 

"It's  a  steady  yellow  stream  out  of  the  bowels 
of  the  earth  —  a  stream  of  gold  !" 

The  young  man  sighed  with  envy. 

"Better  than  gold,"  Brainard  continued.  "A 
thousand  per  cent  better  !  I  wouldn't  dare  tell 
you  how  much  money  that  yellow  stream  pours 
into  my  pockets  every  twenty-four  hours." 

Farson's  eyes  gleamed,  and  he  looked  covetously 
at  the  bulging  pockets  of  the  miner's  loose  coat. 

"So  you  made  good,"  he  said;  "and  of  course 
you  came  up  here  to  New  York,  straight  off,  to 
spend  your  money." 

"That's  it,"  Brainard  assented  with  a  laugh. 

"It's  a  good  place  to  enjoy  oneself.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

Brainard  looked  quizzically  at  the  ex-reporter. 

"Get  some  clothes,  first.  I  need  'em,  don't  you 
think?" 

Farson  candidly  admitted  that  he  did. 

"But,"  he  added,  "you  don't  seem  the  sort  to 
blow  your  money  the  usual  way  —  chorus-girls,  or 
country  places,  or  yachts,  or  stock  market,  or  — 

Brainard  shook  his  head  vigorously  at  each  item 
of  gratification  mentioned. 


222  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  yellow 
stream  ?" 

"I  have  my  idea,"  Brainard  admitted. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"I'll  tell  you,  and  you  can  make  another 
article  about  it,  if  you  like." 

The  young  man  leaned  forward,  all  eager 
attention.  Brainard  smoked  thoughtfully,  then 
began. 

"You've  written  plays  —  got  one  in  your 
pocket  this  minute,  probably." 

"  You  don't  mean  you  are  going  to  write  plays  !" 
Far  son  said  disgustedly. 

"No,  my  boy  —  not  now.  I  tried  it  once. 
But  I  hope  to  make  it  possible  for  you  and  other 
young  men  to  write  their  plays  and  get  them  put 
on  the  stage.  I'm  going  to  build  theaters,  here 
and  in  other  cities.  I  shall  found  a  national 
society  of  dramatic  art.  That's  the  way  I'm 
going  to  blow  in  the  money  from  the  sulfur  stream 
as  long  as  it  flows  ! " 

"Whew!"  The  magazine  man  whistled  du 
biously.  "Another  uplift  movement  for  the  poor 
drama?" 

"Let  me  explain,"  Brainard  continued. 

With  much  more  eagerness  than  he  had  shown 
over  his  exploits  with  copper  and  sulfur,  he 
sketched  the  story  of  his  great  idea,  which  had 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  223 

first  taken  possession  of  him  that  last  night  of  his 
week's  stay  in  Paris,  while  he  wandered  through 
the  silent  streets.  He  told  of  the  vision  that  had 
come  to  him  in  the  snowy  heights  of  the  Arizona 
mountains,  in  the  silence  of  earth  and  sky  —  a 
vision  of  beautiful  art  that  might  be  created  into 
reality  by  the  aid  of  the  wealth  which  he  could 
give  it.  He  had  set  himself  earnestly  to  the  task 
of  getting  the  necessary  gold  out  of  the  ground,  and 
all  through  these  years,  in  the  vigils  of  his  lonely 
nights  in  the  mining  camp,  he  had  nursed  his 
vision. 

He  poured  out  his  heart  freely  to  Farson,  be 
cause  he  was  young  and  a  would-be  dramatist, 
and  could  understand;  and  Farson,  listening  to 
the  story  of  this  idea,  became  warmed  with  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  other  and  forgot  his  habitual 
journalistic  skepticism. 

"It's  big  !"  he  murmured. 

"And  now  it  will  no  longer  be  just  an  idea.  It's 
to  become  fact !  I  have  the  money  —  at  least, 
it's  mine  for  the  present."  Brainard  corrected 
himself.  "One  can  do  something  with  half  a 
million  or  so  a  year." 

"Half  a  million  a  year  !"  the  young  man  gasped. 

"More  or  less  —  at  present  rather  more,  I 
should  say,"  Brainard  admitted  carelessly.  "De 
pends  on  the  market  for  crude  sulfur,  you  under- 


224  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

stand.  It's  pretty  strong  just  now.  And  there's 
the  copper  to  fall  back  upon,  when  the  price  of 
copper  goes  up.  There's  no  need  to  worry  about 
the  money." 

Just  here  they  were  interrupted  by  a  boy  with  a 
card. 

"Show  the  gentleman  up  !"  Brainard  exclaimed, 
glancing  a  second  time  at  the  card. 

The  magazine  man  rose  reluctantly  to  go, 
saying : 

"Another  time,  if  you  would  be  good  enough  to 
tell  me  more  about  your  plans  - 

"Don't  go!"  Brainard  interrupted  warmly. 
"If  you  are  interested,  stay,  and  you  will  hear 
more  about  my  great  idea.  This  gentleman  has 
come  from  Chicago  by  appointment  to  talk  it 


over. 

"Thanks!" 


"Why  don't  you  drop  that  magazine  job?" 
Brainard  suggested  abruptly.  "I  shall  need  a 
secretary.  I  think  you  would  be  the  right  sort. 
Why  not  begin  now?" 

"Done!"  the  journalist  exclaimed  boyishly, 
and  they  shook  hands.  This  was  a  millionaire 
after  his  own  heart,  who  did  things  casually  at 
the  drop  of  the  hat  with  the  most  surprising  ease. 

"You'll  have  a  better  chance  to  write  your 
plays,"  Brainard  remarked  genially. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  225 

It  pleased  him  to  think  that  here,  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  experienced  his  last  defeat,  he  was 
able  to  play  the  part  of  good  fortune  to  youth. 

"Somehow,"  said  Farson  enthusiastically,  "I 
feel  it's  going  to  be  like  a  play  all  the  time  with 
you!" 

"The  chap  that's  coming  up  to  see  me,"  ex 
plained  Brainard,  "is  an  actor  and  a  manager  in 
a  small  way.  He  calls  himself  Ferris  MacNaugh- 
ton  —  an  odd  genius,  a  Scotsman  who  has  played 
all  over  the  world.  I  ran  across  him  in  a  small 
Arizona  town,  doing  Shakespeare  to  the  mining 
camps,  and  doing  it  well,  too.  He  seemed  in 
terested  in  the  idea,  and  so,  when  I  got  ready  to 
pull  out,  I  wired  him  to  meet  me  here.  He  hasn't 
lost  any  time,"  he  added  as  the  door  swung  open. 


II 

IT  was  a  curious  figure  that  entered  the  room. 
The  Scotsman  was  short,  thick-set,  about  fifty 
years  old,  with  a  round,  bald  head  fringed  with 
white  hair.  He  was  dressed  with  an  evident  at 
tempt  at  youthful  smartness,  and  dangled  a  small 
cane.  Between  his  thick  lips  was  the  end  of  a 
black  cigar.  His  large  face,  portentous  brows, 
and  mild  blue  eyes  looked  as  if  he  had  started  as 
Falstaff  and  ended  as  a  Scottish  Hamlet. 

MacNaughton  bowed  profoundly,  and  said  in 
deep,  measured  tones,  that  were  reminiscent  of 
blank  verse : 

"Good  afternoon,  gentlemen  !  I  received  your 
telegram  yesterday,  Mr.  Brainard.  It  found  me 
at  an  unoccupied  moment  in  my  career,  and  I  am 
happy  to  place  myself  at  your  disposal." 

Farson  grinned.  He  judged  from  his  acquaint 
ance  with  Broadway  that  the  unoccupied  moments 
in  the  Scotsman's  career  had  been  frequent  of 
late  years,  and  that  he  had  spent  a  good  many  of 
them  in  the  outer  offices  of  theatrical  managers. 
He  wondered  how  his  new  employer,  who  seemed 
wide  awake  enough  to  capture  one  fortune  and 

226 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  227 

make  a  second,  had  come  to  mix  himself  up  with 
this  seedy  actor. 

"Good!"  Brainard  exclaimed  genially,  shaking 
MacNaughton's  hand.  "This  is  my  secretary, 
Edward  Farson  —  Ferris  MacNaughton.  Let  us 
get  to  work  at  once  and  see  how  we  can  spend  the 
better  part  of  half  a  million  a  year  on  the  theater  ! " 

At  the  casual  mention  of  this  large  sum  of  money, 
the  old  actor  did  a  bit  of  unpremeditated  acting, 
displaying  astonishment  so  genuine  that  it  set  the 
secretary  laughing.  He  recovered  himself,  and 
remarked  in  his  Shakespearian  tones  : 

"One  might  do  a  good  deal  on  even  less  !" 

The  three  sat  down  about  the  table,  and  lighted 
fresh  cigars.  Brainard  presently  drew  a  small, 
much  worn  note  book  from  an  inner  pocket, 
and  began  turning  its  leaves,  reading  thoughtfully 
from  time  to  time  : 

"Item  first  —  create  an  organization  that  will 
build  and  support  theaters  in  the  chief  cities  of 
the  United  States  —  to  be  called  in  every  instance 
'The  People's  Theater.'" 

"Good!"  the  actor  assented  loudly.  "I  have 
always  maintained  that  the  drama  came  originally 
from  the  ranks  of  the  common  people,  and  should 
be  the  chief  means  of  their  education." 

The  magazine  man  made  a  wry  face.  The 
"People"  according  to  Broadway  were  visitors 


228  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

from  out  of  town  who  would  pay  two  fifty  apiece 
for  the  "show"  -any  show.  Brainard  read  on: 

"Item  second  —  no  boxes  and  no  reserved  seats 
in  the  People's  Theaters.  Highest  price  of  seats, 
one  dollar,  and  free  matinees  on  Saturdays." 

"You  will  need  a  million!"  Far  son  mur 
mured. 

"I  used  to  find  it  so  hard  to  get  a  good  seat  when 
I  wanted  to  go  to  the  theater,"  Brainard  explained. 
"Even  when  I  had  scooped  together  the  price,  for 
some  extraordinary  occasion,  I  couldn't  get  nearer 
than  the  twelfth  row.  Every  theater  was  always 
sold  up  to  that  row,  no  matter  how  early  in  the 
day  I  got  to  the  box  office.  I  have  an  invention  in 
mind  that  will  register  every  seat  sold  or  given  out, 
and  show  it  on  a  diagram,  to  put  an  end  to  the 
usual  practice.  But  let  us  get  to  more  important 
matters  !" 

He  read  out  different  items : 

"Exchange  of  the  different  companies  in  the 
organization  —  a  college  of  dramatic  art  —  cafes  in 
the  theaters  —  libraries  of  dramatic  literature  — 
open-air  theaters  in  the  suburbs  and  city  parks, 
etc." 

"But,"  the  actor  inquired  sententiously,  "what 
do  you  propose  to  give  the  people  in  your 
theaters?" 

"Plays,    of   course!"    Brainard   replied.     "All 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  229 

sorts  of  plays  that  are  worth  while,  old  and 
new!" 

"Shakespeare,  Ibsen,  and  Hauptmann,"  the 
actor  remarked  voluptuously.  "Sophocles,  Mo- 
liere  —  " 

"Hold  on  !"  Farson  put  in.  "Where  will  you 
get  the  people  to  sit  through  that  ?" 

"My  dear  young  sir,"  the  actor  retorted  pater 
nally,  "the  people  love  the  best.  I  have  played 
the  classics  in  every  State  in  the  Union  to  enthu 
siastic  audiences,  —  sometimes  small. " 

"You  bet !"  Farson  murmured. 

"But  always  enthusiastic !" 

"We  must  have  modern  plays,  too,"  Brainard 
added. 

"But  all  the  modern  plays  are  copyrighted,  and 
the  dramatists  are  under  contract  to  Einstein  & 
Flukeheimer,  and  their  brethren." 

"Then  we'll  make  our  own  playwrights,"  Brain 
ard  replied  placidly.  "Here's  one  !"  He  tapped 
the  younger  man  fraternally  on  the  knee. 

The  secretary  subsided. 

"And  the  companies?"  the  Scotsman  inquired. 
"  They  make  the  piece  !" 

"The  very  best  actors,  of  course,"  Brainard 
agreed  enthusiastically.  "We'll  pay  the  highest 
salaries  and  give  long  contracts  and  pensions  — 
that's  all  in  the  scheme.  You  will  help  us  to 


230  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

organize  the  parent  company,  Mac.  I'll  give 
you  a  free  hand." 

The  old  actor  closed  his  eyes  in  a  happy  dream. 
He  saw  himself  at  last  as  a  metropolitan  impresario, 
dealing  magnificently  with  the  "talent." 

Brainard  read  on,  but  before  he  had  finished  the 
note  book  —  which  contained  a  remarkable  mix 
ture  of  detail  and  aspiration  —  dinner  came  up. 
They  talked  as  they  ate,  and  they  talked  after 
ward  as  they  sipped  their  coffee  and  smoked. 
They  became  heady  with  enthusiasm,  for  Brain- 
ard's  imperturbable  optimism  and  faith  in  his 
idea  were  like  drafts  of  Arizona  air,  intoxicating 
to  those  who  lived  in  lower  altitudes. 

The  actor,  mellowed  by  good  food  and  good 
wine,  —  and  more  by  the  confidence  this  new 
Crcesus  seemed  to  have  in  him,  —  discoursed  almost 
tearfully  of  aspirations  and  ambitions  suppressed 
through  long  years  that  were  now  within  the  possi 
bility  of  realization.  He  had  always  wished  to 
devote  his  life  to  Ibsen  and  the  great  classics,  he 
declared,  but  the  box  office  had  prevented  the  ful 
fillment  of  his  artistic  ideals. 

"I'm  the  box  office  now,"  Brainard  laughed, 
"and  I  am  here  to  fulfill  ideals  !"  He  picked  up 
the  note  book  again.  "I  had  forgotten  the  college 
of  actors,  for  both  sexes,  which  we  must  run  in 
connection  with  the  enterprise.  It  will  give  free 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  231 

tuition,  of  course,  and  there  will  be  scholarships  for 
promising  pupils.  You  will  have  to  look  after 
that,  too,  Mac." 

"Haven't  I  been  training  lads  and  lassies  who 
couldn't  speak  the  language  all  my  life  ?"  the  old 
Scotsman  burred. 

"We  should  recruit  our  road  companies  from 
the  college,"  Brainard  suggested. 

"It  will  take  a  good  deal  of  time  to  do  all  that," 
Farson  remarked. 

"We've  all  the  time  in  the  world,"  Brainard 
retorted  confidently.  "Make  a  note  of  that,  Mr. 
Secretary  !" 

So  they  talked  on  as  men  will  talk,  when  it  is 
still  a  matter  of  words  and  not  actions.  Late  in 
the  evening,  or  rather  early  in  the  morning,  Brain 
ard  developed  his  plan  for  an  outdoor  theater  in 
some  beautiful  mountain  spot,  or  on  an  island  along 
the  seacoast.  It  was  a  bit  of  fairy  fancy  which  he 
called  the  "Summer  Festival."  Every  summer, 
for  a  few  weeks  in  August,  in  some  sylvan  spot  of 
great  natural  beauty,  with  a  background  of  lofty 
trees  and  cliffs,  there  would  be  held  a  dramatic 
festival,  where  lovers  of  the  art  could  resort  to 
live  for  a  time  in  the  atmosphere  of  Sophocles, 
Calderon,  Moliere,  Goethe,  Shakespeare. 

"A  kind  of  theatrical  camp  meeting,"  the  secre 
tary  jokingly  named  it. 


232  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Exactly.  Imagine  an  open-air  theater  built 
upon  a  cliff,  with  the  blue  sea  below,  backed  by 
thick  trees  and  a  wild  forest  park,  where  the 
audience  might  stroll  between  the  acts  and  after 
the  performance.  Think  what  could  be  made  of 
such  a  place  !" 

It  was  the  final  flash  of  Brainard's  vision,  and 
they  sat  for  some  time  in  silent  contemplation 
of  what  was  before  them.  At  last  the  old  actor 
spoke  in  a  husky  voice  : 

"My  boy,  it  is  sublime!  It  has  come  almost 
too  late  for  me.  I  cannot  walk  your  great  stage 
and  triumph  in  your  triumph.  My  days  are 
nearly  over,  spent  in  miserable  efforts  to  exist 
and  not  debase  my  noble  art.  But  I  can  help, 
and  I  pledge  to  you  and  to  the  People's  Theater 
all  the  strength  that  is  left  in  me." 

The  old  Scotsman's  eyes  were  moist  with  tears. 
Here  was  another  whom  the  great  idea  had  touched 
and  lifted  to  unexpected  heights,  Brainard  thought 
happily. 

"You'll  have  your  chance  to  act,  too,"  Brainard 
remarked  consolingly. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  first?"  the  secre 
tary  demanded  impatiently. 

"Incorporate,  and  find  an  architect,"  Brainard 
replied  concisely. 

"Another  trust!" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  233 

"A  beneficent  trust/' 

"What  we  need  is  publicity,"  the  young  maga 
zine  man  announced.  "I'll  look  out  for  that !" 

"What  we  all  need  now,"  laughed  Brainard, 
"is  sleep.  We've  done  enough  for  one  day."  For 
the  early  morning  procession  of  drays  had  begun 
to  thunder  over  the  pavements  beneath  the  win 
dow.  "And  to-day  I  must  engage  a  tailor  and 
consult  with  my  banker." 

"Before  we  go,"  Parson  said,  "let  us  drink  to 
Aladdin  and  his  sulfur  lamp  !  Here's  to  Aladdin, 
the  Sulfur  King!" 

They  drank  the  toast,  and  another  proposed 
by  the  actor : 

"The  American  Drama !" 

And  a  third  which  was  scarcely  intelligible  to 
Farson,  although  the  old  actor  considered  it 
quite  suitable  : 

"To  Melody!" 

Then  they  separated.  In  this  gay  and  care 
less  fashion  the  plot  was  laid  for  pouring  half  a 
million  a  year  into  the  Sulfur  King's  great  Idea. 


Ill 

THE  new  secretary  had  some  difficulty  in  con 
vincing  Brainard  of  the  importance  of  what  he 
called  "publicity."  His  own  varied  experience 
as  a  newspaper  and  magazine  writer  had  given 
him  a  deep  faith  in  this  modern  method  of  prop 
aganda.  He  constituted  himself  at  once  the 
publicity  agent  of  the  new  undertaking. 

"It's  the  only  way  to  do  things  in  this  country. 
You  must  scatter  your  idea  about  in  the  news 
papers  and  magazines,  get  people  to  talk  about 
it  and  read  about  it,  or  it  is  dead  before  you 
start." 

Rather  against  Brainard's  inclination,  Parson 
set  off  the  first  of  a  series  of  journalistic  squibs 
concerning  the  "Sulfur  King,"  his  spectacular 
fortune,  and  the  novel  manner  in  which  he  pur 
posed  to  spend  it,  in  a  profusely  illustrated  article 
in  the  new  Bunker's  Magazine.  Brainard  sub 
mitted  to  this  indignity  because  of  his  desire  to 
advertise  the  Melody  mine  and  in  this  way 
possibly  attract  the  attention  of  its  unknown  mis 
tress.  But  of  all  the  letters  that  came  to  him 

234 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  235 

after  the  publication  of  his  spectacular  biography, 
not  one  was  from  "Melody." 

The  People's  National  Drama  Society  had  not 
been  incorporated  before  the  sputter  in  the  daily 
press  began,  with  long-winded  remarks  by  theat 
rical  experts  —  actors,  managers,  and  critics  — 
predicting  failure  and  ridiculing  "the  new  up- 
lifter  of  the  stage  from  Arizona."  The  public 
yawned  and  skipped.  There  was  nothing  new 
in  this  "uplift"  talk  about  the  drama;  but  the 
"Sulfur  King"  was  new,  and  the  public  was  much 
more  interested  in  him  and  his  golden  stream  of 
wealth  than  in  his  dream  of  creating  a  popular 
drama. 

All  sorts  of  mythical  tales  began  to  appear  in 
print  concerning  his  personality.  The  story  that 
obtained  the  widest  vogue  was  that  Brainard, 
having  in  his  younger  and  penniless  days  sighed 
in  vain  for  the  favor  of  a  theatrical  lady,  had 
gone  off  to  Arizona  with  despair  in  his  heart, 
"struck  sulfur,"  and  now  had  returned  to  build 
a  palatial  theater  on  Broadway  for  his  old  flame. 
A  rather  obscure  young  actress  was  named  as 
the  heroine  of  the  tale,  and  the  lady,  when  asked 
about  the  story  by  reporters,  failed  to  deny  it. 
Instead,  she  coyly  led  the  newspaper  men  to  em 
broider  further  details  on  the  theme. 

"See  what  you've  got  me  into  with  your  pub- 


236  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

licity  business!"  Brainard  exclaimed  ruefully, 
holding  out  the  morning  newspaper  to  Farson, 
when  the  latter  came  for  the  day's  work  to  the 
little  house  on  Gramercy  Park  into  which  Brainard 
had  moved. 

The  secretary,  who  had  already  seen  the  article, 
merely  grinned  and  admitted : 

"She  has  the  cheek  !  They  are  all  like  that  — 
anything  to  get  themselves  talked  about.  But 
it's  all  right  —  it  helps  to  spread  the  great  idea." 

"  I  should  say  it  did  !  Look  at  that ! "  Brainard 
pointed  to  a  sack  of  mail  that  had  been  poured 
out  over  the  library  table.  "And  there's  a  lot 
more,  they  tell  me,  at  the  post  office.  We  shall 
have  to  open  an  office  and  hire  some  clerks,  or 
chuck  it  into  the  fire." 

"It  all  helps,"  the  ex-reporter  affirmed,  dipping 
his  hands  into  the  mass  with  zest.  "You  don't 
understand  the  American  public  yet.  It  has 
to  have  Romance  with  a  capital  R  to  sugar-coat 
any  idea  before  it  will  swallow  it." 

"There  was  pretty  nearly  everything  in  yes 
terday's  mail,  from  an  offer  of  marriage  to  a  recipe 
for  making  a  successful  play,  not  to  mention  one 
hundred  and  eighty-seven  specimens  of  orig 
inal  American  drama." 

"Here  are  a  few  more  of  the  same  sort,"  the 
secretary  laughed,  tossing  out  a  handful  of  bulky 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  237 

packages.  "The  literary  committee  will  have 
something  to  do  when  it  finds  time.  That's 
me!" 

He  tossed  the  manuscripts  into  a  corner. 

"The  thirty-first  application  for  position  as 
leading  lady  from  an  actress  'of  established  repu 
tation,  at  present  on  the  Oregon  circuit '  —  that 
goes  to  Mac's  pile,"  he  remarked,  throwing  the 
lady's  letter  into  a  basket.  "Proposal  of  mar 
riage,  marked  *  strictly  personal,'"  he  continued, 
handing  over  an  envelope  to  his  employer.  "We 
must  get  out  some  printed  forms  for  acknowledg 
ment  of  these  —  one  for  marriage,  one  for  plays, 
and  one  for  positions  in  the  company." 

"If  this  is  publicity,  let's  try  for  privacy!" 
Brainard  groaned,  tearing  the  marriage  letter 
into  bits. 

"Here's  a  new  note  !"  Parson  exclaimed,  paus 
ing  in  his  swift  disposal  of  the  mail  to  read  aloud 
a  letter. 

"  GENTS  : 

"  I  saw  in  yesterday's  Kansas  City  papers  a  piece  about 
your  new  theater.  I  think  your  idea  is  fine  I  It's  all  right ! 
Have  you  got  a  part  for  a  beginner  who  will  take  anything 
or  everything,  but  wants  to  begin  ?  I  know  I've  got  stuff  in 
me,  and  I  must  see  New  York.  Please  reply. 
"  Yours  anxiously, 

"LOUISIANA  DELACOURT, 

"P.  O.  Box  8,  lole,  Kansas." 


238  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"I  think  that  Louisiana  should  get  a  chance 
to  see  New  York,"  Brainard  observed. 

"She  might  take  less  than  everything  then. 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

"Put  her  down  for  the  college,"  laughed  Brain 
ard.  "She  thinks  the  Idea  is  fine." 

And  that  is  how  Miss  Louisiana  Delacourt, 
of  lole,  Kansas,  became  the  first  pupil  in  the  new 
college  of  dramatic  art,  which  was  not  yet  founded. 

When  the  second  mail  came  in  with  a  large 
assortment  of  begging  letters  and  more  manu 
script  plays,  Brainard  rose  in  disgust  and  seized 
his  hat  to  flee  from  his  own  house. 

"Don't  forget  Mrs.  Pearmain's  —  luncheon  at 
half  past  one  !"  the  secretary  warned. 

"Confound  Mrs.  Pearmain !"  Brainard  mut 
tered.  "Just  tell  her  I've  gone  out  of  town, 
Ned." 

A  look  of  horror  spread  over  the  secretary's 
handsome  face. 

"It  wouldn't  do  !  She's  to  have  a  lot  of  im 
portant  people  there  to  hear  about  the  Idea. 
She  would  never  forgive  you.  It  would  spoil 
everything  at  the  social  end,"  the  young  man 
pleaded.  He  had  worked  for  weeks  to  "start  the 
social  business,"  as  he  called  it,  and  thus  arouse 
an  interest  of  a  fashionable  kind  in  their  under 
taking.  This  luncheon  at  Mrs.  Pearmain's  was 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  239 

to  be  the  brilliant  opening  of  a  social  campaign 
that  should  go  hand  in  hand  with  the  more  demo 
cratic  press  campaign.  It  was  unthinkable  for 
Brainard  to  refuse  from  whim  or  shyness  or  fastid 
iousness  the  gracious  advances  of  Society  ! 

"I  don't  like  all  this  woman  business,"  Brain 
ard  remarked  sulkily,  laying  aside  his  hat.  "  What 
ever  did  you  get  us  into  it  for,  Ned  ?  I  don't 
need  their  money." 

"No,  you  don't  need  their  money,"  Farson 
pronounced  oracularly,  "and  that's  just  why  you'll 
get  what  you  do  need.  You  need  their  influence. 
You  can't  get  anything  started  without  the 
women  —  not  in  America.  A  movement  for 
art  in  any  form  couldn't  exist,  if  the  women  didn't 
take  it  up.  Why,  there  isn't  any  Art  in  any 
form  in  this  country,  except  what  the  women 
keep  going.  So  far  as  literature,  drama,  and  music 
go,  there's  but  one  sex  in  America,  and  it  doesn't 
wear  trousers  either  !" 

"Lord!"  the  young  Msecenus  groaned,  "I 
didn't  know  that,  Ned." 

"There's  a  good  deal  you  don't  know  about 
America  and  Americans  that  you'll  have  to  learn, 
if  you  want  to  make  good  in  this  thing,"  the  sec 
retary  commented  severely.  "That's  what  you 
need  me  for  —  to  open  your  eyes." 

"Thanks,"  Brainard  murmured  humbly. 


240  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"You  will  find  Mrs.  Donnie  Pearmain  the  very 
one  to  give  the  right  cachet  to  the  movement." 

The  young  man  rather  prided  himself  on  his 
social  knowingness  acquired  since  his  return  to 
New  York.  Brainard  sighed,  and,  with  a  grim 
ace,  resigned  himself  to  Mrs.  Donnie  Pearmain. 
The  secretary  proceeded  to  prepare  his  master 
for  the  coming  luncheon. 

"You  know  what  she  did  for  the  half  orphans 
last  year  ?  The  year  before  it  was  the  tuberculosis 
campaign.  But  now  she's  giving  up  mere  char 
ity  for  art,  and  ours  is  the  very  thing  to  interest 
her.  The  Rev.  Thomson  Spicer  will  be  there." 
r"The  clergy,  too!" 

"Of  course.  They  make  the  next  best  publicity 
agents  after  the  newspapers.  They  preach  about 
popular  movements,  you  know.  You'll  see  what 
Spicer  will  do  for  us  next  Sunday.  He's  much 
interested  in  the  moral  influence  of  the  theater 
upon  the  masses." 

Brainard  groaned. 

"President  Nathaniel  Butterfieid  of  Eureka 
University  has  also  promised  to  be  there." 

"Professors  ?  Ye  gods  !  Where  will  you  stop, 
Ned?" 

"Dr.  Butterfieid  has  views  on  the  educational 
value  of  the  stage." 

"I'm  not  founding  a  religious  kindergarten!" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  241 

The  secretary,  ignoring  this  feeble  protest,  con 
sulted  his  note  book  for  further  details. 

"Jaggard,  the  banker,  has  been  asked,  and 
Toowit,  of  the  Daily  Beacon,  and  my  old  boss, 
Howard  Bunker.  A  very  representative  gather 
ing  of  prominent  persons!"  the  secretary  com 
mented  complacently.  "They  would  make  an 
admirable  board  of  trustees." 

"What  do  you  propose  to  trustee  —  me?" 
Brainard  roared. 

"Every  movement  has  to  have  a  board  of 
trustees  —  a  list  of  good  names  to  print  at  the 
head  of  the  note  paper,  you  know,"  the  young 
man  explained  patiently.  Brainard's  simplicity 
was  occasionally  wearisome,  and  he  was  proving 
more  difficult  to  handle  than  Farson  had  expected. 
It  required  considerable  tact  at  times  "to  keep 
the  '  Sulfur  King '  all  on  the  track."  He  remarked 
to  pacify  his  employer,  "They  don't  interfere  un 
less  you  ask  them  for  money,  and  of  course  you 
won't  have  to  do  so  in  this  case." 

What  Brainard  might  have  said  about  wrap 
ping  his  great  idea  in  a  wad  of  distinguished 
trustees  was  prevented  by  the  appearance  of  Mac- 
Naughton.  He  came  into  the  library  at  that 
moment,  with  the  air  of  an  old  diplomat,  which 
was  the  role  he  had  affected  since  he  had  joined 
the  movement.  His  quiet  gray  suit  was  adorned 


242  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

with  a  small  red  button.  He  wore  horn-bowed 
eyeglasses  and  carried  a  large  leather  portfolio. 
An  unlighted  cigar  protruded  from  his  mouth. 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  he  remarked, 
settling  himself  in  a  chair  opposite  the  secretary 
and  turning  over  the  pile  of  applications  for  posi 
tions  in  the  companies  of  the  new  society.  He 
slowly  dropped  the  letters  to  the  floor.  "All 
rotters,  every  one  of  them,"  he  announced  with 
a  profound  sigh.  "My  boy,  will  you  please  hang 
out  the  sign,  'No  lady  help  wanted'  ?" 

"Are  you  sure  they  are  all  so  bad?"  Brain- 
ard  asked  hopefully. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  the  old  Scotsman  replied 
languidly,  "there  are  at  least  three  thousand 
women  in  New  York  to-day,  young  and  old,  who 
think  they  can  act  and  want  a  chance  to  take 
your  money.  I've  seen  twenty-nine  hundred 
and  ninety-nine  of  them!" 

"There  must  be  some  good  ones  eager  for  the 
opportunity  we  offer." 

"All  those  that  are  any  good,  and  many  that 
aren't,  have  signed  up  with  Einstein  &  Fluke- 
heimer  and  the  other  managers.  I  tell  you 
they  have  passed  the  word  up  and  down  Broad 
way  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  us.  They  call 
us  cranks  !"  the  old  actor  cried.  "We  are  black 
listed,  sir  —  that's  what  it  is." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  243 

"But  with  this  great  chance  to  do  something  for 
dramatic  art?"  Brainard  protested,  quoting  from 
a  conversation  he  had  had  with  a  famous  actress. 

"Talk!" 

"The  opportunity  to  devote  themselves  to 
their  profession,  relieved  of  all  sordid  cares?" 

"More  talk!" 

"Their  desire  to  subordinate  personal  ambitions 
for  the  good  of  dramatic  art  ?" 

"All  talk!" 

"We'll  have  to  double  the  salaries,  then." 

"Even  that  won't  bring  the  better  ones  who 
have  made  names  already.  They  don't  want  to 
compromise  themselves  with  highbrows.  We 
shall  have  to  start  with  unknown  talent  and  build 
up  our  company  gradually." 

"That  will  take  time,  but  I  like  it  better," 
Brainard  replied  optimistically.  "Show  him 
Louisiana's  letter,  Ned.  That's  the  right  spirit." 

"The  little  dear,"  MacNaughton  commented 
ironically.  "How  many  like  her  there  are!" 
He  dropped  the  letter  in  the  secretary's  basket. 
1  Presently  there  appeared  the  architect  who 
had  been  asked  to  prepare  plans  for  the  first 
playhouse.  The  three  gathered  around  him  and 
examined  the  voluminous  prints  and  water- 
color  sketches  that  he  had  brought  with  him. 
He  was  a  young  man,  and  he  had  seen  his  opportu- 


244  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

nity,  with  the  wealth  of  the  sulfur  king  behind  him. 
He  had  planned  a  monumental  building  of  marble, 
with  beautiful  colonnades,  a  magnificent  foyer, 
reception  rooms,  a  restaurant,  and  a  library. 
Behind,  in  the  form  of  an  annex,  was  the  college 
of  dramatic  art  with  its  own  little  theater,  lec 
ture  rooms,  and  dormitory.  The  whole  looked 
like  a  public  institution  for  the  insane  rather  than 
a  simple  theater. 

"What  do  you  think  it  would  cost  to  build?" 
Brainard  inquired,  as  they  came  to  the  last  sheet. 

"I  should  think  it  could  be  done  for  three  mil 
lions,"  the  architect  replied  glibly. 

"Three  millions,"  the  secretary  repeated  easily. 

"Three  millions  —  um  !"  MacNaughton  echoed, 
as  one  who  dealt  habitually  in  seven  figures. 

Brainard  said  nothing.  He  was  thinking,  per 
haps,  that  the  Melody  sulfur  spring  must  gush  like 
a  yellow  geyser  to  pour  forth  enough  gold  for  the 
Idea  as  it  was  expanding  from  day  to  day.  He 
had  learned,  however,  not  to  be  daunted  by  large 
figures  —  the  mine  had  taught  him  that  —  nor  did 
he  ever  allow  himself  to  worry  over  expense.  He 
had  wasted  his  youth  in  such  fruitless  cares.  As 
a  man  he  would  do  what  he  could,  and  then  stop. 

Presently  the  three  left  for  Mrs.  Pearmain's 
luncheon.  The  secretary  thoughtfully  took  with 
him  the  plans  for  the  new  theater. 


IV 

MRS.  DONNIE  PEARMAIN,  as  everybody  knows, 
is  the  only  daughter  of  old  Joseph  P.  Barton,  the 
founder  of  the  milk  trust,  and  derived  her  very 
ample  personal  fortune  from  that  famous  finan 
cier's  successful  manipulation  of  the  milk  market. 
Starting  as  a  plain  New  Jersey  farmer,  who  ped 
dled  his  own  milk,  Barton  organized  the  great 
trust,  and  when  he  died  was  its  largest  individual 
stockholder.  It  was  he,  too,  who  first  generally 
introduced  the  use  of  the  small  glass  bottle  in 
stead  of  the  large  tin  can  in  the  distribution  of 
milk,  thereby  enabling  the  trust  to  add  at  least 
thirty  per  cent  to  the  retail  price  of  its  product. 

In  spite  of  these  accomplishments,  financial 
and  hygienic,  Barton  was  one  of  the  most  widely 
misunderstood  and  execrated  of  the  older  genera 
tion  of  millionaires,  doubtless  because  of  the  ab 
normal  increase  in  cost  of  this  necessary  article 
of  domestic  consumption,  and  its  deterioration  in 
quality,  since  the  formation  of  the  milk  trust. 
Consequently,  although  Barton's  daughter  had 
married  into  glue  —  one  of  the  Pearmain  sons  — 
which  is,  of  course,  an  eminently  quiet  and  re- 

245 


246  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

spectable  fortune  that  has  escaped  the  keen  eyes 
of  the  muckrakers,  she  had  never  been  able  wholly 
to  live  down  the  taint  of  milk.  Too  many  even 
of  the  social  leaders  of  the  city  remembered  the 
small  bottles  of  Barton's  pale-blue  fluid,  retailed 
as  milk  at  nine  cents  a  quart,  to  forgive  the  social 
ambitions  of  Mrs.  Donnie  Pearmain,  in  spite  of 
her  respectable  veneer  of  glue. 

The  energetic  little  lady,  however,  had  learned 
from  her  rich  father  his  great  life  axiom  —  if 
you  can't  do  what  you  want  in  one  way,  you  can 
in  another.  So  she  attacked  the  citadels  of  so 
cial  leadership  by  the  way  first  of  Philanthropy 
and  now  of  Art,  as  the  magazine  man  had  accu 
rately  related  to  Brainard.  Thanks  to  her  energy 
as  patroness  in  these  allied  fields,  she  was  in  a  fair 
way  of  living  down  at  last  the  odor  of  milk  and 
attaining  the  coveted  reward  of  social  leadership. 

Mrs.  Pearmain  had  received  Edgar  Brainard 
most  graciously  in  the  previous  interviews  that 
had  been  arranged  between  them  by  the  young 
secretary,  and  had  shown  a  most  intelligent  in 
terest  in  his  scheme  of  creating  a  People's  Theater. 
The  young  sulfur  king  appealed  to  her  all  the 
more  because  he  expected  no  financial  assistance 
in  developing  his  hobby.  She  would  not  be  called 
upon  to  pour  any  milk  into  this  philanthropy. 

She  did  not  in  the  least  doubt  that  Brainard's 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  247 

controlling  purpose  was  the  same  as  hers  —  to 
become  properly  known  in  society  by  identify 
ing  himself  with  a  popular  cause,  and  she  com 
mended  his  sagacity  in  taking  this  means  of  living 
down  sulfur.  Therefore  she  had  easily  been 
brought  to  lend  her  influence  to  the  Idea.  At 
Farson's  suggestion,  she  had  gathered  together, 
in  her  great  house  on  the  upper  avenue,  a'  most 
distinguished  luncheon  party,  which,  as  the  secre 
tary  had  shrewdly  said,  would  give  eclat  to  any 
letterhead. 

When  Brainard  arrived,  with  his  companions, 
he  was  shown  into  the  picture  gallery,  where 
Mrs.  Pearmain  was  chatting  with  her  guests. 
He  was  immediately  presented  to  each  one.  They 
examined  him  with  curiosity,  for  even  in  New 
York  a  young  man  with  an  annual  income  of 
more  than  half  a  million,  which  he  desires  to  spend 
upon  the  public,  is  not  a  common  phenomenon. 

The  university  president,  who  looked  like  a 
banker,  was  especially  affable,  and  stuck  closely 
to  Brainard's  side.  Dr.  Butterfield  sincerely 
regretted  that  he  had  not  had  the  good  luck 
to  capture  this  young  Crcesus  before  he  had 
committed  himself  to  this  freakish  idea  about 
the  drama,  and  hoped  that  there  was  still  some 
stray  million  which  he  might  divert  into  the 
channels  of  the  higher  education  at  Eureka. 


248  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

It  was  for  this  purpose  that  he  had  torn  himself 
away  at  midday  from  his  many  duties  at  the 
university.  The  other  guests,  understanding  the 
game,  looked  on  with  sympathetic  smiles. 

Brainard  had  spent  two  dreary  years  at  Eureka 
where  he  had  found  little  to  relieve  the  ignominy 
of  his  dire  poverty,  and  thus  he  knew  something 
about  "old  Nat,"  as  the  head  of  that  institution 
was  familiarly  known  among  the  undergraduates. 
When  in  the  course  of  their  conversation  Brainard 
admitted  that  he  had  been  enrolled  at  the  uni 
versity,  Butterfield  beamed  upon  him  with  a  new 
warmth  and  remarked  eagerly : 

"How  interesting  !  I  didn't  know  that  you 
were  a  Eureka  man." 

"I  didn't  graduate,"  Brainard  confessed. 

"Ah,  that's  too  bad !  I  presume  you  left 
college  for  the  more  arduous  education  of  a  busi 
ness  career?"  the  college  president  suggested. 

"I  left  it  to  earn  a  living,"  Brainard  replied 
simply. 

"Exactly,"  the  president  said  with  a  depre 
catory  cough.  "That's  what  I  meant." 

He  made  a  mental  note  of  the  fact  that  Brain 
ard  had  been  a  student  at  Eureka.  The  uni 
versity  should  be  able  to  use  that  happy  fact; 
the  trustees  might  consider  it  proper  to  bestow 
an  honorary  degree  upon  this  distinguished  half 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  249 

son,  who  had  somehow  managed  to  achieve 
fame  and  wealth  after  deserting  the  maternal 
halls.  And  immediately  he  began  to  compose 
in  imagination  a  few  of  those  celebrated  periods 
with  which  he  was  accustomed  to  bestow  academic 
honors  upon  similar  practical  "sons  of  Eureka." 

"Can't  you  find  time  to  come  out  to  us  some 
day?"  he  inquired  deferentially.  "I'm  sure  the 
boys  will  be  delighted  to  welcome  you  back  to 
your  old  home.  A  little  address  at  chapel  ?  It 
is  a  great  inspiration  for  young  men  thus  to  come 
into  touch  with  persons  who  have  made  their 
mark  in  life." 

Brainard  merely  laughed.  He  remembered  a 
number  of  occasions  when  "old  Nat"  had  in 
troduced  distinguished  visitors  to  the  academic 
audience  in  somewhat  similar  words.  .  .  . 

At  the  luncheon  Brainard  was  seated  between 
the  college  president  and  his  hostess.  He  easily 
recovered  from  his  natural  shyness  and  talked 
fluently  of  Arizona  and  sulfur.  The  others 
listened  deferentially  to  him,  and  in  the  many 
subtle  ways  that  these  people  understood  of  tes 
tifying  their  consideration  for  a  promising  man  he 
was  made  to  feel  welcome. 

The  banker,  who  had  already  put  him  on  his 
list  of  capitalists  that  might  be  interested  in  some 
"undigested"  railroad  bonds  his  house  had  on 


250  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

their  hands,  was  especially  attentive.  Indeed 
there  was  something  of  a  contest  for  the  guest's 
attention  between  the  banker  and  the  university 
president,  who  each  understood  the  other  only 
too  well.  The  banker,  of  course,  did  not  commit 
the  crudity  of  talking  finance  or  even  business; 
instead  he  discussed  "public  service"  and  "the 
new  spirit  of  capital."  The  kindly  gleam  of  his 
shrewd  blue  eyes  seemed  to  say  to  Brainard,  — 
"You  are  one  of  the  new  kind,  who  will  do  every 
thing  for  the  dear  Public  !" 

And  so  before  the  succession  of  excellent  courses 
had  gone  far,  Brainard  had  forgotten  his  distaste 
for  the  social  side  of  life,  which  he  had  expressed 
so  vigorously  to  Farson  that  morning,  and  really 
believed  that  all  these  good  people  were  as  eager 
as  he  was  to  give  the  American  public  a  superior 
form  of  dramatic  art  at  prices  within  the  reach 
of  the  poorest.  And  when  he  began  to  talk  to 
the  company  at  the  conclusion  of  the  luncheon, 
after  a  few  words  of  flattering  introduction  from 
the  hostess,  he  had  no  trouble  in  finding  what  he 
wanted  to  say. 

"First,  you  will  forgive  me  if  I  say  a  word 
about  myself,  by  way  of  introduction,"  he  began, 
with  an  engaging  smile.  "Four  years  ago,  just 
about,  I  was  here  in  New  York,  down  and  out  — 
a  poor,  discouraged  scribbler,  earning  a  precarious 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  251 

existence  by  writing  furniture  advertisements, 
and  sneaking  into  the  upper  gallery  of  a  theater 
when  I  could  get  the  price  of  an  admission 
ticket." 

The  magazine  man,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
table,  writhed  uncomfortably  over  this  introduc 
tion.  Why,  he  said  to  himself,  go  back  —  so  far 
back  ?  But  the  others  seemed  much  interested,  and 
as  Brainard  went  on  with  his  personal  story,  de 
scribing,  in  simple,  straightforward  language,  life 
as  he  had  lived  it  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence  — 
its  monotony  and  sordidness,  its  lack  of  interests 
that  relieved  from  toil  and  worry  —  it  was  appar 
ent  that  he  had  hit  upon  the  best  way  to  secure  the 
attention  of  these  people.  There  were  some  pres 
ent,  like  Butterfield  and  Haggard,  who  had  begun 
very  near  the  beginning,  and  these  liked  to  feel 
again  the  unmeasureable  distance  that  separated 
them  from  their  former  state.  Others,  like  Bun 
ker  and  Mrs.  Pearmain,  thought  the  story  so 
"picturesque"  or  "dramatic."  It  served  to  in 
crease  their  complacency  at  not  "having  been 
through  all  that,  you  know."  To  Too  wit  of  the 
Beacon  and  the  few  of  a  middling  prosperity  the 
tale  of  a  rich  man's  marvelous  rise  was  exasper- 
atingly  titillating  to  the  nerves. 

Brainard  touched  briefly  on  the  dramatic  occur 
rence  that  had  suddenly  lifted  him  into  action. 


252  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

His  auditors  looked  as  if  they  would  like  to  hear 
more  of  this ;  but  he  paused  after  saying  : 

"I  won't  go  into  that.  It  made  another 
man  of  me  —  the  man  you  see  here  now,  that's 
all!" 

In  a  few  moments  he  resumed,  throwing  back 
his  head: 

"My  friends,  I  have  had  a  vision  !" 

"Oh,"  thought  the  secretary,  "why  doesn't 
he  come  to  the  point  ?  They  don't  want  to  hear 
about  his  dreams  !"  But  with  that  simple  earn 
estness  which  was  the  most  characteristic  quality 
in  his  developed  character,  Brainard  persisted 
in  his  effort  to  share  his  idealistic  enthusiasm.  He 
concluded  his  confession  of  faith  with  the  words,  — 
"It  is  not  mere  amusement,  my  friends,  that  I 
wish  to  further  —  it  is  life ! " 

Dr.  Butterfield  nodded  his  head  approvingly 
at  this  point.  He  had  said  something  not  unlike 
this  a  few  weeks  before,  when  his  college  dedi 
cated  a  new  hall,  the  gift  of  a  whisky  millionaire. 
But  the  editor  of  the  Daily  Beacon  looked  thor 
oughly  bored,  and  presently  slipped  away.  All 
this  idealistic  talk  was  merely  angel  food  for  ladies 
and  parsons,  he  seemed  to  think. 

"I  promised  myself,"  Brainard  continued,  "that 
if  I  were  ever  free  to  do  so,  I  would  give  myself 
wholly  to  this  Idea  —  give  myself  and  all  that  I 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  253 

could  command  of  resources  to  found  a  national 
theater  worthy  of  our  great  people." 

Then,  taking  his  little  worn  note-book  from 
his  pocket,  Brainard  ran  rapidly  over  the  details 
of  his  plan,  most  of  which  we  have  already  learned. 
The  magnitude  of  the  scheme  seemed  to  appeal 
at  first  to  this  fashionable  audience;  they  were 
accustomed  to  deal  in  large  figures,  complex  en 
terprises,  and  size  stimulated  their  imaginations 
like  alcohol.  Oddly  enough,  it  was  only  when 
he  mentioned  a  small  detail  —  the  low,  fixed 
scale  of  prices  to  be  charged  at  the  theaters  — 
that  the  first  dissenting  voice  made  itself  heard. 

"You  will  pauperize  the  people!"  the  banker 
objected.  That,  he  urged,  was  the  trouble  with 
so  many  humanitarian  movements ;  they  de 
prived  the  poor  people  of  the  joys  of  competition. 
The  point  passed,  however,  after  a  feeble  discus 
sion.  That  was  a  detail  evidently  to  be  settled 
later  when  the  exigencies  of  deficits  would  doubt 
less  force  a  more  practical  view  upon  this  enthu 
siast.  But  a  chorus  of  objections  rose  when  Brain 
ard  said  that  the  theaters  were  to  have  no  re 
served  seats  and  no  boxes. 

"No  boxes!"  Mrs.  Pearmain  murmured,  as  if 
personally  affronted.  "But  where  shall  we  sit?" 

"Where  the  others  do,"  Brainard  replied 
promptly. 


254  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Significant  glances  were  exchanged  about  the 
table.  Was  this  a  socialist  who  had  slipped  in 
among  them  in  disguise  ? 

"Think  what  the  opera  would  be  without  the 
boxes!"  a  large  bejeweled  woman  whispered  to 
her  neighbor. 

"These  are  to  be  the  people's  theaters!" 
Brainard  remarked  somewhat  sharply. 

"Oh,  I  hadn't  understood  !" 

"Where  will  your  theater  be  in  New  York?" 
some  one  asked. 

"That  is  yet  to  be  decided.  I  am  looking 
into  the  matter  to  determine  where  the  larg 
est  number  of  people  can  most  easily  reach  a 
theater  by  the  transportation  system  of  the 
city.  Somewhere  on  the  lower  West  Side,  I 
suspect." 

"Nobody  will  ever  go  down  there!  "  several 
protested.  "Everything  is  going  up  town  all 
the  time.  .  .  .  The  Opera  is  too  far  away.  .  .  ." 

"Everybody  can  get  there  most  cheaply  and 
easily,"  Brainard  returned. 

From  this  point  interest  waned  visibly,  and  the 
company  merely  gave  a  polite  half  attention  to 
the  remaining  notes,  including  the  plan  for  a 
great  summer  festival  of  drama. 

"It  sounds  like  a  Chautauqua,"  Butterfield 
superciliously  remarked.  He  detested  these  popu- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  255 

lar  efforts  for  education,  regarding  them  as  "scabs " 
on  the  genuine  industry. 

"It  would  be  exceedingly  drafty,  an  open-air 
theater  in  the  American  climate,"  said  an  old 
gentleman.  "Think  of  a  Bar  Harbor  fog!" 

When  these  trivialities  had  passed,  Brainard 
hastily  read  a  few  notes  on  the  ideals  of  the  enter 
prise  —  the  careful  staging  of  plays,  the  giving 
of  classics,  the  revival  of  old  plays,  the  need  for 
purity  of  speech,  something  about  poetic  plays 
and  the  new  drama. 

As  he  read,  there  were  signs  of  impatience. 
At  the  close  came  the  hard,  round  voice  of  the 
Rev.  Thomson  Spicer : 

"What  sort  of  plays,  may  I  inquire,  Mr.  Brain 
ard,  do  you  propose  to  give  in  your  theaters  ?" 

"All  sorts,"  Brainard  replied,  surprised. 

"I  trust  there  will  be  a  strict  moral  censor 
ship." 

"I  agree  with  you,  Dr.  Spicer,"  Mrs.  Pearmain 
added  in  a  severe  tone.  "The  greatest  care 
should  be  taken  not  to  incite  the  people  to  dis 
content  with  their  lot.  Many  of  the  plays  given 
to-day  are  most  dangerous  in  their  tendency. 
They  hold  us  up  to  ridicule,  and  even  criticize 
our  morals  and  our  fortunes !  " 

It  was  here  that  Brainard  committed  his  un 
pardonable  blunder,  and  the  secretary  knew 


256  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

that  he  had  finally  "queered  himself"  with  these 
influential  people. 

"I  think,"  he  said  sternly,  "that  the  people 
should  be  the  judge  of  what  plays  they  want  to 
see.  You  would  not  try  to  tell  them  what  to  eat 
or  drink,  would  you,  Mrs.  Pearmain?" 

There  was  an  unfortunate  allusion,  perhaps, 
though  unconscious,  in  the  word  "drink";  for 
that  was  precisely  what  Joseph  Barton  had  done 
to  the  people  —  he  had  made  them  drink  a  very 
inferior  grade  of  blue- white  fluid  called  milk. 

Brainard  was  rebuked  by  a  stony  silence,  for 
his  unintentional  faux  pas,  and  then  there  burst 
forth  a  flood  of  criticism.  For  an  hour  these 
good  people  tore  to  tatters  the  fabric  of  his  dream. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  perplexing  double  fire  of 
objections.  A  few,  the  Reverend  Spicer  among 
them,  felt  that  Brainard's  ideas  about  the  sort  of 
dramatic  art  suited  to  the  people  were  dangerous 
and  anarchistic.  Unless  such  a  scheme  were  care 
fully  hedged  in  by  a  sound  conservatism,  it  might 
work  more  harm  than  good.  Others  —  and  these 
were  in  the  majority  —  asserted  that  it  was  alto 
gether  a  mistake  to  found  a  people's  theater 
on  the  level  of  the  people.  Art  was  always  aristo 
cratic,  they  maintained,  and  the  people  should 
be  invited  guardedly  to  partake  of  the  intellec 
tual  entertainment  provided  for  them  by  their 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  257 

superiors  in  a  playhouse  situated  where  the  best 
classes  could  patronize  it,  with  obscure  galleries 
to  which  the  commonalty  might  penetrate. 

"You  must  appeal  to  the  intelligent  classes," 
the  college  president  told  Brainard  dogmatically. 

"Where  are  they?"  he  asked  caustically. 

Thereafter  he  sat  silent,  and  did  not  answer 
any  of  the  comments  made. 

At  this  point  Farson  circulated  the  plans  for 
the  new  theater,  in  order  to  create  a  diversion,  if 
possible,  and  explained  to  a  little  group  the  design 
of  the  grandiose  edifice.  Here  the  banker,  who 
prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of  architecture, 
took  a  hand  and  condemned  the  plans  severely 
as  "mixed  in  style,"  "not  indicative  of  the  pur 
pose  of  the  building,"  and  so  on. 

The  sheets  passed  up  and  down  the  drawing- 
room,  to  which  the  party  had  adjourned,  and 
were  ogled  by  fine  ladies  with  lorgnettes,  until 
Brainard  rose,  and,  bowing  to  his  hostess,  pre 
pared  to  leave. 

"It's  so  interesting,  your  plan,  Mr.  Brainard," 
Mrs.  Pearmain  gushed;  "but  I  think  you  must 
modify  some  of  your  ideas.  You  must  start 
from  above  always,  and  work  down.'9 

"Perhaps  I  shall,  when  I  discover  what  is 
above,"  he  retorted. 

The  secretary  gathered  up  the  plans,  and  over- 


258  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

took  Brainard  in  the  hall.  MacNaughton  was 
already  there.  The  old  actor's  face  was  very 
red ;  he  had  not  said  a  single  word  all  the  after 
noon,  and  his  self-control  was  making  him  posi 
tively  apoplectic.  He  stalked  majestically  past 
the  footman,  metaphorically  shaking  the  dust  of 
the  milk-trust  millions  from  his  feet  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold. 

"Asses,  fools,  imbeciles  !"  he  cried,  as  the  three 
reached  the  pavement.  "What  do  they  know 
about  the  drama  ?  About  anything  but  food 
and  drink  ?  They  want  us  to  build  a  theater 
for  ikeml" 

"Rather  a  frost,  wasn't  it,  Ned?"  Brainard 
observed,  smiling  humorously  at  the  secretary. 

Farson  said  nothing;  he  was  too  utterly  de 
pressed  for  words.  The  great  social  engagement 
on  which  he  had  counted  so  much  had  utterly 
missed  fire,  and  he  blamed  himself  for  the  fiasco. 
He  should  have  written  Brainard's  remarks  for 
him  and  rehearsed  him  carefully  beforehand, 
thus  guarding  against  the  "bad  breaks"  that  his 
employer  had  been  guilty  of.  And  yet  he  had 
not  expected  to  encounter  such  stiff  prejudice, 
such  conservatism  as  took  offense  at  trivialities, 
and  stuck  fast  on  some  nonessential  detail.  But 
his  experience  with  the  "patron"  class  of  society 
had  not  been  large. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  259 

They  walked  back  to  Brainard's  little  house, 
and  all  the  way  the  old  Scotsman  delivered  him 
self  of  invective  against  the  leisure  class.  Brain- 
ard  remarked  once : 

"This  is  a  democracy,  so  called  !  Art  is  to 
be  handed  to  the  public  on  a  gilt  plate  by  the  upper 
classes  !" 

He  laughed  sardonically. 

When  they  entered  the  library,  the  fire  was 
burning  cheerily  on  the  hearth.  Brainard,  tak 
ing  the  roll  of  plans  from  his  secretary,  glanced 
at  the  elaborate  blueprints  and  water-color 
sketches  of  the  palatial  theater,  which  might 
be  built  for  three  millions.  Slowly  he  poked 
the  roll  into  the  flames,  and  watched  it  burn  until 
the  last  bit  was  licked  up.  His  companions  looked 
on  in  consternation. 

"You  are  not  going  to  give  up  ?"  Farson  asked. 

"Not  much!" 

"I'm  so  sorry  for  this  afternoon,"  the  young  man 
said  apologetically.  "How  could  one  tell — " 

"You  couldn't!  I  don't  regret  it.  They 
taught  me  a  lot  —  a  whole  lot,"  Brainard  mused. 
"It  was  worth  while  for  that.  We  shall  learn 
all  along  the  way,  all  of  us."  After  another 
silence  he  roused  himself  suddenly,  and  said, 
with  characteristic  optimism  and  good  humor: 
"There's  been  too  much  talk  —  let's  get  to  work  ! 


260  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

You,  Mac,  go  ahead  and  engage  the  best  com 
pany  you  can  get  together  for  love  of  art  or  of 
money.  I  will  attend  to  building  the  theater. 
Farson  can  read  those."  He  pointed  whimsically 
at  the  pile  of  plays  in  the  corner.  "We'll  let 
publicity  take  care  of  itself  for  a  time." 


V 

IT  was  very  nearly  a  year  from  the  day  of  the 
disastrous  luncheon  at  Mrs.  Pearmain's  before 
the  new  theater  was  ready  for  rehearsal  of  the 
first  play.  The  year,  as  Brainard  had  foreseen, 
had  been  replete  with  education,  if  nothing  else. 
To  find  a  suitable  site  for  a  popular  playhouse, 
to  erect  thereon  a  pleasing  building,  commodious 
and  attractive  in  design,  and  to  engage  a  com 
petent  body  of  actors,  would  not  seem  a  tre 
mendous  task.  It  had  been  done  before;  in 
fact,  Messrs.  Einstein  &  Flukeheimer,  and  their 
fellows,  were  doing  it  all  the  time.  But  the  ama 
teur  with  ideas  and  ideals  was  at  a  disadvantage. 

Brainard  had  chosen  the  site,  which  was  re 
moved  from  the  theater  district  but  quite  acces 
sible  —  in  fact,  not  far  from  the  side  street  where 
he  had  once  lodged.  As  the  result  of  a  large 
search  he  had  discovered  an  architect  who  would 
devote  himself  to  making  a  useful  and  suitable 
building  instead  of  exploiting  his  patron's  purse, 
and  together  they  had  worked  over  the  plans 
until  a  satisfactory  theater  of  modest  proportions 
was  evolved.  It  was  decided  to  postpone  the 

261 


262  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

starting  of  the  Actors'  College  until  the  general 
scheme  had  established  itself.  Almost  all  the 
other  features  of  Brainard's  model  playhouse  for 
the  people  were  included  in  the  plans. 

The  site  bought  and  the  plans  finished,  Brain- 
ard  thought  that  his  difficulties  in  regard  to  the 
building  were  over,  but  in  fact  they  had  not  yet 
begun.  There  was  one  strike  after  another  upon 
the  building  from  the  excavation  up,  with  an 
annoying  regularity  and  persistence.  They  were 
usually  ended  by  a  compromise,  which  consisted 
in  Brainard's  paying  a  contractor  a  slight  increase 
in  contract  price,  to  "square"  some  union  or 
labor  leader.  MacNaughton,  whose  imagination 
was  much  given  to  plots  and  dire  machinations  of 
the  enemy,  held  that  these  labor  troubles  emanated 
from  the  offices  of  Einstein  &  Flukeheimer  in 
upper  Broadway.  Farson  and  Brainard  tried 
to  convince  him  of  the  folly  of  this  delusion,  tell 
ing  him  that  the  noted  managers  probably  had 
enough  troubles  of  their  own  to  keep  them  busy, 
and  indeed  would  doubtless  be  glad  to  give  the 
People's  Theater  one  of  their  own  empty  playhouses 
for  a  reasonable  consideration  if  Brainard  would 
take  it  off  their  hands.  But  they  could  not  con 
vince  the  Scotsman,  who  would  go  to  Brainard's 
house  at  all  hours  with  mysterious  information 
about  the  plot,  which  had  to  be  confided  in  deep 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  263 

whispers.  He  had  thought  it  all  out  in  his  own 
mind  and  believed  that  their  hated  rivals  were 
working  through  the  powerful  agency  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  He  said  that  was  their  favorite 
weapon  when  they  wished  to  put  any  rival  out 
of  business  or  ruin  a  promising  star,  who  had 
refused  to  listen  to  their  offers. 

When  Brainard  on  his  return  from  a  hurried 
trip  to  Monument  to  inspect  the  mine  found  all 
work  suspended  upon  the  theater  building,  he 
was  almost  inclined  to  take  Mac's  view  of  the 
plot  against  the  People's.  This  time  it  proved 
to  be  a  dispute  between  two  rival  unions  over 
the  job  of  electric  lighting.  The  contractor  had 
given  the  work  to  the  regular  union,  and  the  union 
of  theatrical  electricians  had  declared  war.  Every 
workman  was  called  out.  Brainard's  patience 
was  exhausted,  and  he  would  not  listen  to  the 
usual  proposal  for  compromise  suggested  by  a 
suave  "business  agent."  Instead  he  telegraphed 
his  manager  in  Arizona  to  send  up  at  once  old 
Steve  and  the  "emergency  gang,"  —  the  name 
by  which  a  choice  collection  of  spirits  under  the 
command  of  the  old  miner  Steve  operated  either 
as  miners  or  strike  breakers.  On  the  third  day 
they  arrived,  —  twenty  lean  and  lank  specimens 
from  the  plains,  in  sombreros  and  riding  boots, 
prepared  for  immediate  action.  They  did  not 


264  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

know  much  about  gas  fitting,  electric  wiring,  tile 
laying,  and  allied  trades,  but  they  took  possession 
of  the  unfinished  building  with  an  unconcern  that 
created  a  sensation  in  labor  circles,  and  before 
long  work  had  begun  again  and  this  time  was 
pushed  uninterruptedly  towards  a  belated  con 
clusion  —  all  under  the  careful  supervision  of  the 
"emergency  gang,"  who  rolled  cigarettes  and  spat 
upon  the  premises,  while  they  discussed  the  drama 
with  MacNaughton. 

This  prompt  action  by  Brainard  raised  him 
highly  in  the  esteem  not  only  of  the  contractors 
and  workmen,  but  of  his  associates  in  the  venture. 
They  saw  that  beneath  his  good  nature  and  smil 
ing  placidity,  he  was  a  man  to  be  reckoned  with 
who  meant  to  carry  out  his  purposes.  After  this 
final  flurry  he  took  more  pleasure  in  watching 
the  work  on  the  building,  and  thus  realizing  as 
far  as  the  outside  went  his  old  dream.  It  would 
be,  he  flattered  himself,  the  most  delightful  and 
convenient  recreation  center  in  the  city,  —  not 
merely  a  garish,  ugly  auditorium  where  the  largest 
number  of  unfortunates  possible  would  be  packed 
into  the  smallest  area.  ...  At  last  the  build 
ing  was  sufficiently  near  completion  to  permit 
the  beginning  of  rehearsals.  .  .  . 

On  his  way  to  the  first  general  rehearsal  Brain 
ard  stumbled  over  the  marble  workers,  who  were 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  265 

laying  the  mosaic  floors  with  what  seemed  in 
credible  deliberation.  At  this  rate,  push  the 
work  as  he  might,  the  theater  would  be  a  rough 
barn  on  the  night  of  its  opening  to  the  public, 
which  had  been  announced  for  the  first  of  Decem 
ber.  It  was  easier  to  capture  a  fortune  and  de 
velop  a  great  mine  than  to  build  a  playhouse  in 
America  !  That  gave  him  something  to  think  of. 
He  dropped  his  coat  and  hat  in  the  pleasant 
library  on  the  second  floor,  where  the  carpenters 
were  languidly  putting  up  bookcases.  He  had 
watched  these  same  carpenters  at  their  work  for 
a  number  of  weeks  and  had  marveled  at  their 
grudging  slowness  of  movement.  Certainly  they 
were  not  touched  with  enthusiasm  for  the  great 
Idea,  although  the  philanthropic  object  of  the 
building  had  been  carefully  explained  to  them. 
Some  of  these  carpenters  lived  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  theater  was  designed  to  give  pleasure 
to  them  and  their  wives  and  their  children  — 
it  was  to  be  their  playhouse.  And  yet  they  seem 
ingly  took  no  more  interest  in  it  than  they  would 
in  the  Octopus  Building  farther  down  town,  on 
which  they  would  be  employed  next.  Brainard 
himself  had  put  much  more  than  money  into 
every  detail  of  the  place;  he  had  given  it  loving 
thought  and  care,  and  he  wished  a  beautiful  prod 
uct  which  should  reflect  that  spirit  in  every  line 


266  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

and  tone,  —  something  intimate  and  lovely  and 
human.  But  nothing  of  all  this  could  he  evoke 
in  workman  or  contractor.  It  was  all  just  "busi 
ness,"  to  be  skimped  and  shirked  wherever  possi 
ble.  With  a  sigh  from  these  reflections,  thinking 
dubiously  of  the  state  of  mind  it  betrayed  in  that 
"public,"  on  which  he  was  counting  so  hopefully, 
he  turned  toward  the  stage.  It  gave  him  a  thrill 
of  real  pleasure  to  push  aside  the  heavy  hangings 
and  enter  the  mysterious  darkness  of  the  empty 
auditorium.  At  least  this  was  real ! 

In  the  bare  spaces  of  the  undecorated  stage, 
with  a  background  of  white  brick  wall,  the  new 
company  was  rehearsing  Lear.  It  had  been 
Brainard's  idea  to  open  with  what  he  considered 
to  be  the  greatest  play  of  the  greatest  English 
dramatist,  —  to  be  followed,  he  hoped,  by  a  new 
American  comedy.  Thus  the  new  company  would 
pay  their  respects  both  to  the  past  and  to  the 
future.  Farson  had  tried  to  dissuade  him  from 
attempting  Lear,  saying  lightly,  —  "You  don't 
want  to  queer  us  with  the  profession  at  the 
start."  But  Brainard,  whose  first  conscious  in 
terest  in  the  drama  had  been  aroused  by  a  per 
formance  of  Lear  by  the  elder  Salvini,  which 
he  had  witnessed  with  his  father  in  the  hazy  years 
of  his  youth,  clung  to  his  idea.  Perhaps  the  part 
of  Cordelia  also  touched  his  feeling  for  that  lonely 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  267 

girl,  whose  memory  in  some  way  this  undertaking 
was  to  commemorate.  And  MacNaughton  came 
to  his  support  in  the  discussion  with  Farson, 
assuring  him  of  the  popular  triumphs  he  had 
scored  throughout  the  West  in  this  masterpiece. 

It  was  not  until  the  parts  were  to  be  assigned 
that  Brainard  discovered  the  reason  for  the  old 
actor's  unshaken  faith  in  the  ability  of  the  people 
to  rise  to  Lear.  He  wished  to  play  the  title 
role  himself,  and  had  broken  into  tears  when 
forced  to  yield  to  a  more  suitable  actor.  It  had 
been  a  very  painful  incident,  and  also  an  enlight 
ening  one,  to  the  inexperienced  patron  of  the 
theater.  .  .  . 

At  the  moment  of  Brainard's  arrival  this  morn 
ing,  little  Margaret  Leroy,  who,  for  the  lack  of 
a  better  actress,  was  their  present  leading  lady, 
was  languidly  reciting  Cordelia's  lines : 

No  blown  ambition  doth  our  arms  incite, 

But  love,  dear  love,  and  our  aged  father's  rights, 

In  a  few  moments  a  voice  with  a  beery  tang 
boomed  forth  heavily  into  the  dusky  auditorium : 

Aye,  every  inch  a  king ; 

When  I  do  stare,  see  how  the  subject  quakes  ! 

At  this  point  Brainard  had  his  first  misgivings. 
Perhaps,  with  their  present  company,  Lear 
was  overambitious.  It  gave  him  a  pang  to  real- 


268  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

ize  that  the  faded  little  Leroy,  with  her  childish 
blond  wig,  was  the  best  actress  they  could  secure. 
She  had  had  a  quarrel  with  her  manager  at  the 
opening  of  the  season,  because  he  wanted  to  send 
her  to  Omaha,  in  somebody  else's  last  season's 
success,  and  had  accepted  the  offer  of  the  People's 
Theater  in  a  fit  of  pique,  and  with  obvious  re 
luctance. 

"It  queers  one  so  with  the  profession,"  she  had 
told  Farson  confidentially. 

She  had  insisted  upon  bringing  along  with  her 
that  ancient  idol  of  the  matinee,  Dudley  Warner. 
He  was  doing  Lear  in  the  style  of  Beau  Brum- 
mel,  in  which  he  had  made  his  last  tour  on  the 
road. 

As  Brainard  listened  to  the  shrill  pipings  of 
Cordelia  answered  by  Warner's  beery  bass,  his 
heart  sank.  He  recalled  all  the  rebuffs  he  had 
received  from  the  better  players  whom  he  had 
approached  —  their  insincere  and  voluble  sym 
pathy,  their  flimsy  excuses,  and  the  selfish  fears 
that  kept  them  from  offending  Einstein  &  Fluke- 
heimer,  in  spite  of  the  generous  salaries  and  all 
the  other  temptations  Brainard  could  think  of 
to  win  them  to  the  cause  of  art. 

"Maybe  your  gold  mine  will  give  out,  or  you 
will  get  tired  of  the  stage,"  one  well-known  actress 
had  said  to  him  pertly.  "Anyway,  Einstein 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  269 

has  promised  to  put  me  on  in  one  of  Dudu  Smith's 
plays,  and  that's  good  enough  for  me  !" 

The  People's  would  have  to  do  the  best  they 
could  with  second-rate  and  third-rate  people 
until  they  had  "made  good,"  or  could  train  their 
own  actors,  Brainard  reflected.  Meanwhile  Miss 
Leroy  continued  to  pipe  and  Dudley  Warner  to 
bawl,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  MacNaugh- 
ton's  resonant  voice  from  the  wings.  "No, 
no !  That  won't  do  at  all.  Begin  that  once 
more,  Miss  Leroy,"  etc. 

"Ah,  it's  rotten!  Cut  it  out!"  a  voice  mur 
mured  out  of  the  darkness  close  to  Brainard. 

The  fresh  young  voice  so  near  to  him  startled 
Brainard,  and  he  turned  to  see  who  had  spoken. 
In  the  gloom  he  could  make  out  a  girl  sitting 
hunched  up,  with  crossed  legs,  a  newspaper  on 
her  lap,  from  which  she  seemed  to  be  eating  her 
luncheon. 

"It  is  pretty  rotten,"  Brainard  admitted. 

"The  whole  bunch  is  no  account  trash,  any 
way,"  the  young  person  continued  impersonally, 
dangling  a  slice  of  sausage  before  her  mouth. 
"Like  last  year's  grass  or  yesterday's  supper. 
But  that  Jenny !  Why,  she  couldn't  decorate 
a  cemetery  properly  !" 

Thereupon,  having  disposed  of  the  company, 
the  young  woman  devoted  herself  unreservedly 


270  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

to  her  food,  ignoring  BrainarcTs  presence.  The 
next  time  that  the  stage  manager  opened  a  dis 
cussion  with  Miss  Leroy  that  promised  to  last 
for  some  moments,  Brainard  turned  to  the  girl. 

"Pardon  my  curiosity,"  he  said,  taking  the 
seat  behind  her,  "but  I  should  like  to  know  how 
you  happen  to  be  here  at  the  rehearsal." 

"Me?  Why,  I  belong!"  she  replied,  with  a 
funny  wrinkling  of  her  small  lips.  "I'm  part  of 
it  —  this  great  uplift  movement  for  the  American 
dra-ma!" 

Brainard  winced  at  the  gibe. 

"Is  that  what  they  call  us  ?" 

"And  a  lot  of  other  things,"  the  young  woman 
admitted  frankly.  "Highbrows  and  amateurs 
and  boneheads  and  - 

"I  don't  know  you,  and  I  thought  I  had  met 
every  one  in  the  company." 

"I'm  not  in  the  front  row,  you  see.  I  am  what 
they  call  a  nee-o-phyte  —  a  pupil  in  the  Actors' 
College,  when  there  is  any  college." 

"Oh,  I  remember  now!"  Brainard  said,  re 
calling  the  first  and  only  pupil  enrolled.  "Your 
name  is  - 

"Delacourt  —  Louisiana  Delacourt,"  the  girl 
rolled  out  with  gusto,  as  if  she  enjoyed  her  name, 
and  hadn't  many  opportunities  of  using  it. 

The  slightly   Southern   accent  of  the  girl   set 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  271 

puzzling  currents  of  memory  at  work  in  Brain- 
ard's  mind.  He  looked  at  her  more  closely,  but 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  auditorium  could  not  make 
out  distinctly  the  face  which  was  shrouded  in 
one  of  the  inverted  "peach-basket"  hats  of  the 
period.  She  seemed  a  slight  little  body. 

"Say,"  Miss  Delacourt  remarked  confidentially, 
"I  bet  I  could  show  that  wiggle-tailed  Flossie  a 
stunt  or  two  !" 

"Do  you  know  Lear?" 

"Do  I  know  Lear?  I  was  nursed  on  Shake 
speare.  My  mother  knew  the  plays  by  heart,  and 
used  to  recite  'em  all  over.  Mr.  Farson  says  he'll 
get  me  a  boy's  part  in  the  last  act.  Five  lines  — 
but  you'll  see  how  I'll  make  'em  hum  !" 

Just  then  Farson  came  up  to  them  out  of  the 
darkness  of  the  auditorium,  and  nodded  to  the 
girl,  who  presently  slipped  off. 

"So  you  know  Miss  Delacourt?"  Brainard 
observed. 

"Of  course  !  Everybody  about  the  place  knows 
Louisiana.  Queer  little  piece,  isn't  she  ?  Slangy 
and  fresh,  but  she  knows  how  to  handle  herself. 
.  .  .  It's  pretty  rotten!"  he  remarked  cheer 
fully,  glancing  at  the  stage. 

"Just  what  Louisiana  said." 

"I  guess  she  knows  !" 

Brainard  and  the  secretary  thereupon  went  out 
to  lunch,  and  tried  to  forget  their  troubles. 


VI 

AT  last,  amid  turmoil  and  excitement,  the  open 
ing  day  came.  Brainard  and  Farson  had  been  at 
the  theater  since  early  morning,  doing  what  they 
could  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos.  About  lunch 
time  MacNaughton  rushed  up  to  them,  his  face 
white  with  excitement. 

"A  telegram  from  Miss  Leroy!"  he  gasped. 
"Doctor  thinks  she's  got  appendicitis.  She's  got 
Einsteinitis,  all  right,  —  that's  what  is  the  matter 
with  her  !  We  can't  raise  an  actress  in  New  York 
who  knows  Cordelia's  lines,  let  alone  having  re 
hearsed  it.  We'll  have  to  postpone  the  opening  !" 

"Not  that !"  Brainard  said,  with  tightening  lips. 
"Not  if  you  read  the  lines,  Mac  !"  The  old  actor 
stormed  back  and  forth,  snapping  his  fingers  and 
cursing  with  equal  warmth  stars  and  managers, 
the  stage  and  life. 

"Isn't  there  some  one  in  the  company  who  could 
take  the  part  ?"  Brainard  asked. 

"Not  one,  man  or  woman!"  the  Scotsman 
growled.  "We're  using  the  whole  company." 

"Where's  Louisiana?"  Farson  inquired,  a  little 
smile  wreathing  his  lips. 

272 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  273 

"You  mean  that  Kansas  kid?  She's  knocking 
about  the  stage  somewhere,"  MacNaughton  re 
plied.  He  had  had  several  passages  with  Miss 
Delacourt  already,  and  had  no  great  opinion  of  her 
ability  except  in  repartee.  "You  aren't  thinking 
of  that  child?" 

"Let's  find  her,"  Farson  said.  "She  knows 
Shakespeare  by  heart  —  her  mother  used  to  put 
her  to  sleep  on  it  —  she's  always  getting  it  off  when 
she  isn't  ragging  the  show  with  her  Kansas  slang." 

They  found  Louisiana  sitting  on  a  pile  of  prop 
erties,  playing  with  a  lanky  pup.  She  smiled  on 
Farson  in  a  friendly  fashion,  and  ignored  the 
manager. 

"Say,  what's  broken  down  now?"  she  drawled. 
"Have  Miss  Leroy's  stays  given  warning,  or  did 
the  big  bass  fiddle  bust  a  string?" 

"Look  here,  Miss  Louisiana,"  Farson  replied. 
"Quit  your  guying,  and  get  ready  for  Cordelia. 
We'll  rehearse  you  all  the  afternoon." 

"Gee  whiz  !"  the  young  woman  remarked,  rising 
and  yanking  the  puppy  by  the  leash.  "But 
you're  sudden,  my  dear  !"  t 

"Miss  Leroy  is  sick  —  going  to  have  an  opera 
tion." 

"She  needed  it,  if  ever  a  woman  did!"  Miss 
Delacourt  tossed  back  over  her  shoulder  as  she 
tied  the  puppy  to  the  gilded  throne. 


274  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"She'll  do!"  Farson  whispered  encouragingly. 

"She'll  do  something,"  MacNaughton  growled 
gloomily. 

It  was  not  an  auspicious  outlook  for  the  open 
ing  of  the  People's  Theater. 

At  eight  o'clock  that  evening,  the  new  play 
house  was  fairly  well  filled  with  what  the  local 
press  calls  a  "highbrow  audience."  Of  these,  not 
a  few  had  come  to  scoff,  for  from  the  beginning 
the  newspapers,  led  by  the  Beacon,  had  taken  the 
People's  Theater  as  a  pet  toy  with  which  to  play 
during  the  silly  season.  It  was  variously  described 
as  the  "Sulfur  Extravaganza,"  the  "Cowboy 
Show,"  or  the  "Arizona  Theatre  Frangais." 

For  ever  since  that  fatal  luncheon,  the  editor  of 
the  Beacon  had  directed  the  most  skillful  members 
of  his  celebrated  stiletto  gang  in  their  sneers  at 
Brainard.  To  the  New  York  newspaper  mind  it 
was  simply  inconceivable  that  a  man  with  a  great 
fortune  could  put  it  to  so  purely  childish  a  use  as 
running  a  popular  theater.  A  few  friendly  souls, 
however,  were  scattered  up  and  down  the  house  — 
those  who  follow  the  banner  of  "new  ideas"  wher 
ever  it  may  wave;  and  there  were  a  few  of  the 
"people"  —a  very  few  —  on  free  tickets. 

As  the  curtains  slowly  parted,  Brainard,  sitting 
alone  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  regretted  more  than 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  275 

ever  that  they  had  attempted  to  open  with 
Lear.  There  were  surely  some  in  the  audience 
whose  memories,  like  his,  would  carry  them  back 
to  the  godlike  fury  of  the  elder  Salvini.  What 
could  they  make  of  the  squat  figure,  the  perspiring 
muscularity  of  Dudley  Warner  ? 

As  the  fated  king  waddled  forth  and  began, 
Brainard  shut  his  eyes.  He  opened  them  sud 
denly  on  hearing : 

What  shall  Cordelia  do  ?     Love,  and  be  silent. 

It  was  Louisiana  in  walk  and  bearing,  —  the 
swagger  from  lole,  Kansas,  —  but  the  voice  was 
rich  and  sweet,  with  an  unpremeditated,  girlish 
modulation  that  suggested  depths  of  feeling  un 
suspected. 

The  audience,  puzzled,  was  respectful  through 
Cordelia's  humble  replies,  until  the  young  actress 
essayed  her  first  long  speech : 

You  have  begot  me,  bred  me,  loved  me ;   I 
Return  those  duties  back  as  are  right  fit  ... 
Haply  when  I  shall  wed, 
That  lord  must  take  my — my — 

Louisiana  stumbled  at  the  word,  then  brought 

out  triumphantly : 

My  fist- 
There  was  a  ripple  of  amusement.     Miss  Dela- 

court  heard  it,  flushed  defiance  in  an  un-Cordelia- 


276  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

like  manner,  and  tore  through  the  concluding  lines. 
She  got  on  well  enough  in  the  short  responses,  but 
the  critics  were  waiting  —  as  was  Brainard,  with 
trepidation  —  to  see  what  the  girl  would  make  of 
her  next  long  speech. 

Alas  !  Miss  Louisiana  sailed  in,  as  she  would 
have  said,  to  paint  the  lines.  She  drew  herself 
up  in  all  her  girlish  dignity. 

I  yet  beseech  your  majesty, 

If  for  I  want  that  glib  and  oily  part 

To  speak  and  -purpose  not ;  since  what  I  well 

intend 
I'll  do't  before  I  speak  —  that  you  make 

known  — 

A  frightened  look  came  over  the  girl's  face. 

"She  is  rattled,"  Brainard  said  to  himself, 
"and  will  break!" 

Evidently  the  audience  thought  so,  too,  and 
there  was  a  painful  hush,  in  which  MacNaughton's 
efforts  to  whisper  the  words  from  the  side  could 
be  heard. 

"It  is  no  —  no  —  oh,  hang  it  all,  how  does  the 
talk  go?"  Louisiana  muttered  audibly,  swinging 
on  her  heel  toward  the  wings. 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  from  the  house. 
With  one  contemptuous  glance  at  the  audience, 
Cordelia  walked  deliberately  into  the  wings,  and, 
returning  in  fierce  haste,  finished  her  speech.  As 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  277 

she  made  her  exit  at  the  end  of  the  scene,  she 
jerked  the  train  of  her  dress  and  gave  it  a  kick  in 
good  vaudeville  style.  The  galleries  caught  fire, 
and  began  to  stamp  and  hoot.  Louisiana  turned 
and  distinctly  made  a  face,  as  a  child  might,  at 
her  tormentors.  The  applause  was  furious.  It 
lasted  so  long  that  to  resume  the  play  with  any 
degree  of  seriousness  seemed  utterly  impossible. 

At  the  end  of  the  act,  the  manager  pushed  the 
unwilling  Cordelia  out  upon  the  stage.  She  made 
a  sulky  little  bow  and  another  face.  There  were 
calls  and  whistles.  She  was  a  hit.  But  Lear! 

Brainard,  laughing  in  spite  of  himself,  bit  his 
lips  with  mortification.  After  this  nothing  could 
bring  the  audience  to  take  the  performance  se 
riously.  The  galleries  began  to  guy  Warner,  and 
to  exchange  repartee  with  the  fool. 

Fortunately,  Cordelia  did  not  appear  during 
the  next  two  acts.  When  she  came  on  at  the  con 
clusion  of  the  fourth  act,  for  the  affecting  scene 
with  the  blind  king,  the  gallery  received  her  up 
roariously.  She  was  white,  with  set  lips,  and  she 
threw  herself  into  her  lines  with  a  fine  scorn  of  the 
mirthful  house.  When  her  memory  failed  her, 
she  cut  or  improvised  with  fluent  inspiration. 

"She's  acting!"  Farson  whispered  in  amaze 
ment  to  Brainard. 

"Yes,  she's  acting,  but  they  don't  know  it !" 


278  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

For  the  house,  having  amused  itself  once  with 
Miss  Delacourt,  refused  to  take  her  seriously,  and 
was  ready  to  explode  with  derisive  mirth  at  any 
unconventional  gesture,  any  wrong  accent.  Poor 
Louisiana  gave  them  enough  openings ;  but  she 
held  herself  steadily,  and  was  winning  her  way 
with  the  sweetness  of  her  voice  and  her  real  charm, 
when,  alas,  there  came  a  long,  hard  line.  She 
wavered,  tried  to  bluff  it  out,  but  broke  down, 
burst  into  tears,  and  fled  to  the  wings. 

"Poor  child  !  It  was  too  much  for  her,"  Brain- 
ard  murmured,  while  Farson  tried  to  hiss  down  the 
laughter. 

It  would  not  down,  however.  Finally  Brainard 
rose  and  walked  down  the  aisle  to  the  front. 
Holding  up  his  hand  to  still  the  noise,  he  said  : 

"Miss  Delacourt  came  to  us  merely  as  a  pupil. 
We  were  compelled  to  ask  her  to  take  the  difficult 
role  of  Cordelia  at  five  hours'  notice,  owing  to  the 
sudden  illness  of  Miss  Leroy.  I  think  that  Miss 
Delacourt  deserves  our  thanks  and  our  sympathy, 
instead  of  these  jeers." 

There  was  silence,  but  Lear  was  doomed. 
The  critics  had  left,  and  others  followed.  Those 
that  stayed  until  the  curtain  swept  together  for 
the  last  time  snickered  contemptuously  over  the 
affair.  Louisiana  had  saved  the  occasion  from 
dismal  dullness ;  she  had  turned  Lear  into  a  farce  ! 


VII 

THE  pleasant  drawing-room  and  the  library  of 
the  theater,  which  were  on  the  second  floor  above 
the  foyer,  had  been  thrown  open  after  the  per 
formance,  and  a  few  well-wishers  of  the  enter 
prise  lingered  there  to  examine  the  new  playhouse 
and  to  meet  the  shamefaced  members  of  the  com 
pany,  to  whom  Brainard  was  giving  a  supper. 
Miss  Delacourt  did  not  appear  with  the  others. 

"She's  probably  gone  home,  poor  girl,"  Farson 
said,  as  Brainard  started  to  find  her.  He  went 
directly  to  the  dressing  rooms  and  knocked  at 
one  of  the  closed  doors.  He  had  to  knock  twice 
before  a  sulky  voice  replied  irritably : 

"Well,  come  in!" 

Louisiana  had  torn  off  the  blond  wig  in  which 
she  had  played  Cordelia  and  tossed  it  into  a  cor 
ner.  She  had  also  removed  the  embroidered 
gold  bodice  of  her  costume  and  put  on  a  rumpled 
dressing  sack,  and  was  sitting  curled  up  on  her 
long  train,  the  big  puppy  in  her  lap.  She  was 
pulling  his  ears ;  her  brown  hair  fell  about  his 
head.  It  was  plain  that  she  had  been  crying. 

279 


280  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  she  asked  crossly,  recog 
nizing  Brainard. 

"I  came  to  —  to  thank  you  for  helping  us  in 
our  emergency  this  evening,"  Brainard  stammered. 

"Helping!  That's  a  smooth  word,  I  must 
say!"  the  girl  flashed.  "You  may  like  that  sort 
of  help;  but  it's  the  last  you'll  get  from  me,  I 
reckon !" 

"I  hope  not,"  Brainard  protested  heartily. 
"  You  saved  the  performance  from  being  just  a 
soggy  failure,  anyway." 

He  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  memory  of  her 
saucy  antics,  yet  the  picture  of  childish  despair 
she  presented,  crumpled,  with  her  hair  falling 
about  the  puppy's  head,  roused  another  un 
familiar  feeling  of  sympathy  and  pity.  She  was 
such  a  forlorn  little  person,  for  all  the  bravado 
of  her  speech ! 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  saving  it  ?  "  Louisiana 
turned  the  puppy  from  her  lap  and  devoted  all  her 
passion  to  scorn.  "  Saving !  To  make  yourself 
a  guy,  to  be  '  it '  for  the  merry  haw-haws  of  the 
smart  Alecks  in  New  York !  I  must  say  I  don't 
like  your  taste.  I'd  rather  fail  in  some  other 
way."  She  pushed  back  her  falling  hair  and  tied 
it  excitedly  in  a  knot,  then  shrank  into  her  dressing 
gown  and  glared  at  Brainard  very  much  like  a 
kitten  that  has  been  cornered  and  is  ruffled.  "  Let 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  281 

me  tell  you  right  here,  dear  sir,  if  you  are  the 
big  gun  responsible  for  this  whole  show,  you 
haven't  got  much  to  be  proud  of  !" 

"I  heard  you  say  that  once  before,"  Brainard 
admitted  humbly.  "You  said  it  was  rotten,  and 
I  guess  it  is.  But  we  are  going  to  try  to  make  it 
better." 

"Yes,  try  !  You'd  better  try.  I  haven't  seen 
much  acting,  but  I've  seen  road  shows  in  one- 
horse  towns  back  in  the  State  of  Kansas  that 
could  play  all  over  your  swell  outfit.  You  think 
you  are  uplifting  the  theater,  do  you  ?  What  do 
you  know  about  the  theater,  anyway  ?  You'd 
better  go  right  out  to  lole,  or  over  in  the  Bowery, 
and  look  at  a  ten-twent'-thirt'  show  and  learn 
something  about  play-acting.  This  young  ladies' 
boarding-school  sissy  show  —  oh,  why  did  I  ever 
come  to  you  ?  I'd  have  learned  more  in  a  Kansas 
City  variety!" 

She  crossed  the  room  to  hunt  up  a  cigarette,  and 
puffed  the  smoke  with  a  disdainful  shrug  of  her 
thin  shoulders,  walking  to  and  fro  in  the  small 
dressing  room,  kicking  her  dress  about  like  a 
football,  and  generally  emitting  sparks. 

"So  I  saved  your  show  from  being  too  awfully 
dull  —  at  the  expense  of  my  reputation  ! " 

Brainard  could  not  help  laughing  at  this  display 
of  childish  vanity.  She  was  a  child  attempting 


282  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

to  be  dignified  with  something  more  than  a  child's 
intelligence.  He  suppressed  his  laughter  and  let 
her  emotion  explode. 

"What  do  you  think  those  writer-guys  in  the 
front  row  are  going  to  say  about  Louisiana  Dela- 
court  to-morrow  morning  ?  They'll  hand  me  the 
merry  laugh,  that's  all.  I'll  be  a  deader  in  the 
profession  after  this.  Anyway,  I'll  have  to  make 
up  another  name." 

"Your  name  wasn't  on  the  program,  you  know," 
Brainard  suggested  soothingly.  Louisiana  merely 
cast  him  a  withering  glance.  "Of  course,  our  com 
pany  isn't  what  it  should  be  yet,"  he  admitted. 
"We'll  try  to  give  you  a  better  chance  - 

"You'll  have  to  do  some  mighty  smart  trying," 
the  girl  sneered  fiercely.  "You  highbrows  think 
all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  open  a  theater  and  print 
'  Ideals '  in  big  letters  on  the  program,  and  the  pub 
lic  will  run  to  your  show.  Folks  have  been  going 
to  the  theater  some  before  you  undertook  to  up 
lift  it!" 

"Do  you  think  they  do  good  work  at  the  other 
theaters  ?" 

"They  ain't  all  they  might  be,  perhaps,  but 
they're  so  much  more  in  the  game  than  you  are, 
Mr.  Head-in-the-Clouds,  that  you  can't  see  'em 
at  all,  at  all !  And  to  start  off  with  Shakespeare, 
of  course  !" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  283 

She  sniffed  outrageously. 

"Lear  was  a  mistake." 

"I  should  say  it  was  !"  she  agreed  with  infinite 
sarcasm.  "Why  don't  you  look  around  and  see 
what  the  others  are  doing  —  what  the  horrid 
trust  is  putting  on  ?  They  know  their  business, 
anyway." 

"Oh,  come  —  you  are  a  little  hard  on  us  !" 

"I  mean  it.  ...  Now,  if  you  don't  mind 
stepping  along,  I'm  going  to  shake  off  this  meal 
sack  and  hike  home  to  bed.  Good-by  to  high  art 
for  me,  thank  you  !" 

Brainard  started  for  the  door  on  this  broad 
hint,  but  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  knob. 

"Miss  Delacourt,"  he  said,  facing  the  angry 
girl,  "I  came  here  to-night  to  say  to  you  what  I 
sincerely  believe  —  that  you  have  in  you  the 
making  of  a  fine  actress.  I  gather  from  what  you 
have  said  about  our  undertaking  that  my  opinion 
means  nothing  to  you.  But  let  me  assure  you 
that  I  didn't  see  your  mistakes  to-night  as  much  as 
the  spirit  and  the  talent  —  the  very  great  talent, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken." 

"Very  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure,"  the  girl  snapped. 

"I  don't  wish  to  persuade  you  to  stay  with  us 
against  your  inclination.  In  our  present  shape, 
we  can't  give  you  what  you  need." 

"I  should  think  not!" 


284  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"One  of  my  purposes,  however,  in  this  enter 
prise  was  to  discover  just  such  talent  as  I  think 
you  have,  and  develop  it.  Perhaps,  if  I  can't  help 
you  in  one  way  to  develop  your  talent,  I  can  in 
another." 

Miss  Delacourt  deigned  to  pause  in  her  toilette 
to  stare  at  Brainard. 

"I'm  sure  you  have  the  real  thing  in  you,  even 
after  this  one  unfortunate  performance.  I  can't 
tell  whether  the  vein  will  hold  deep,  whether  you 
have  the  character  to  develop  it  thoroughly,  or 
will  be  content  with  the  superficial  success  you 
might  easily  achieve  in  one  of  the  commercial 
theaters.  But  I  want  to  help  you  to  do  better 
than  that  —  to  give  your  talent  a  chance." 

"Well?" 

"You  must  go  where  you  can  study  —  where 
you  can  see  good  acting  also.  You  must  go 
abroad  —  to  England  and  France  and  Germany." 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider.  She 
murmured : 

"But  that  would  take  a  sight  of  time  and 
money,  and  I  haven't  a  cent  in  the  world  ! " 

"You  have  the  time,  at  your  age,  and  I  can 
give  you  all  the  money  you  need,"  he  went  on 
earnestly.  "To-morrow  Mr.  Farson  and  I  will 
talk  the  matter  over  with  you  and  decide  on 
what's  the  best  way  to  go  about  it." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  285 

Louisiana  threw  back  her  head,  as  if  to  embrace 
the  splendid  vision  opened  before  her.  Still 
gazing  at  Brainard  to  see  whether  he  really  meant 
it  all,  or  was  perpetrating  a  cruel  joke,  she  gave  a 
long  sigh.  There  was  something  pathetically 
wistful  and  desirous  in  her  small  face  that  stirred 
Brainard  strongly.  He  seemed  to  be  looking 
into  a  little  starved  soul  that  was  trying  to  grasp 
the  meaning  of  his  promise. 

"You  don't  mean—" 

She  began  and  stopped.  Her  look  wavered  for 
one  moment,  as  if  an  unpleasant  idea  had  crossed 
her  mind  and  made  her  doubt  Brainard's  disin 
terestedness.  Brainard  understood  the  expression. 
Probably  in  her  short  experience  of  life  she  had 
met  with  little  real  generosity  from  men. 

"I  mean  exactly  what  I  said  —  and  nothing 
more  !"  he  added  with  meaning  emphasis. 

The  girl's  face  cleared  with  wonderful  rapidity. 
Once  more  it  had  the  eager,  wistful  expression  of 
the  child. 

"My,  but  you  are  a  good  one  !"  she  exclaimed 
at  last,  convinced  of  his  earnestness  and  his  single 
ness  of  purpose.  "After  all  those  fancy  compli 
ments  I  just  passed  you,  too  !" 

"I  guess  we  deserved  a  good  part  of  what  you 
said.  Perhaps  you'll  save  the  day  for  us  again 
sometime  —  when  you  come  back." 


286  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"I  sure  hope  I  can  !  But  not  that  way  !"  she 
blushed.  "You  mean  it  all  —  the  study  and 
travel  ?  To  go  to  Paris  ?  " 

"And  London  and  Berlin  and  Vienna,"  Brain- 
ard  added  with  a  smile.  "And  a  lot  of  hard  work, 
too,  remember  ! " 

"That  never  rattled  me  !"  Louisiana  exclaimed, 
gathering  the  sleepy  pup  into  her  arms  and  hugging 
him  until  he  yelped.  Presently  she  held  out  a 
hand  to  Brainard  with  an  expression  on  her  mobile 
face  more  mature  than  he  had  yet  seen  there. 
"Some  day  I'll  tell  you  my  story,  and  then  you'll 
see  what  it  means  to  me.  You've  given  me  - 
life!" 

He  left  her  hastily  to  spare  her  the  embarrass 
ment  of  a  second  fit  of  tears.  In  spite  of  all  the 
humiliation  that  the  evening  had  brought  him, 
Brainard  returned  to  his  house  in  a  happy  and 
contented  frame  of  mind. 


VIII 

WHEN  Brainard  confided  to  Farson  the  plan  he 
had  formed  for  Louisiana  Delacourt's  education, 
the  younger  man  looked  sharply  at  him  for  one 
moment  as  if  he  also  suspected  ulterior  motives 
in  this  unexpected  interest  in  the  young  woman, 
who  had  given  the  People's  Theater  such  dubious 
notoriety  by  her  performance  of  Cordelia.  In 
that  rapid  interchange  of  glances  between  the  two 
men,  Brainard  felt  for  the  first  time  a  slight  an 
tagonism  to  his  cheerful  and  companionable 
secretary.  Why  should  Farson  immediately  infer 
that  there  was  anything  more  than  a  disinterested 
desire  on  his  part  to  help  a  poor  and  promising 
girl,  whom  fate  had  rather  casually  thrown  in  his 
path  ?  Was  it  necessary  that  in  the  theater  world 
this  should  inevitably  be  the  implication,  —  that 
there  could  be  no  simple  kindness  between  men 
and  women  ! 

"No  !"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  slight  smile,  an 
swering  Farson's  glance,  "I  don't  mean  that !" 

"Why  do  you  think  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  Louisiana  to  go  abroad  now  ?  She's  got 

287 


288  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

a  good  deal  to  learn  that  she  could  learn  here  just 
as  well,"  the  secretary  observed  evasively. 

Brainard  smiled  more  openly.  It  was  plain 
enough  that  the  young  secretary  did  not  like  the 
idea  of  losing  sight  of  their  Kansas  star,  of  whom 
he  had  seen  a  good  deal  in  the  course  of  business 
these  last  months. 

"She's  nothing  but  a  kid,  you  know,"  he  added 
in  an  indifferent  tone. 

"Exactly!  And  it's  just  because  she  is  so 
much  of  a  child  that  I  think  the  best  thing  for 
her  is  to  have  a  lot  of  new  experience  of  a  totally 
different  kind  from  any  she's  likely  to  get  over 
here.  What  she  wants  is  to  grow,  —  not  learn 
grammar  and  elocution.  She  must  develop  in 
every  way  to  become  the  actress  that  is  in  her,  and 
that  development  she  will  get  more  easily  some 
where  out  of  her  old  environment  —  apart  from 
all  the  inspiration  that  will  come  to  her  eager  little 
mind  by  seeing  real  acting  and  real  plays,  of  which 
there  is  much  more  just  at  present  in  Europe  than 
in  New  York." 

"I  see  you  have  thought  it  all  out,"  the  secre 
tary  replied  dryly. 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  a  good  deal  about  Louis 
iana  since  last  night,"  Brainard  admitted. 

It  had  occurred  to  him  possibly  in  the  course  of 
this  thought  that  the  secretary's  growing  inti- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  289 

macy  with  the  girl  was  not  altogether  advanta 
geous.  His  nature  was  too  generous,  however,  to 
entertain  this  consideration  seriously.  The  idea 
of  rivalry  between  them  for  the  girl's  interest  was 
too  ridiculous  to  be  thought  of,  and  yet  he  was 
forced  to  recognize  in  himself  a  trace  of  that  subtle 
sex  jealousy  that  seems  inevitable  wherever  two 
men  are  concerned  with  one  woman,  no  matter 
how  trivial  the  occasion.  He  put  it  summarily 
out  of  his  head. 

"She  won't  be  away  for  always,  Ned,"  he  ob 
served  good-naturedly.  "And  we  must  give  the 
girl  her  chance  —  it's  the  least  we  can  do  after  en 
couraging  her  to  come  on  here  and  join  our  or 
ganization,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so,"  the  secretary  agreed  more  cor 
dially. 

When  Brainard  told  MacNaughton  of  his 
purpose,  the  old  actor  expressed  an  unfeigned  and 
unflattering  surprise. 

"What  do  you  want  to  turn  that  silly's  little 
head  for  ? "  he  roared,  flourishing  his  cigar.  "Send 
her  abroad  to  study  !  You'd  much  better  send 
her  to  a  grammar  school  or  a  young  lady's  fern 
sem  where  she  could  learn  ordinary  deportment. 
She'll  never  make  an  actress." 

"I  don't  agree  with  you,"  Brainard  replied 
quickly.  "She's  the  best  we've  got  already." 


290  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Farson  watched  the  two  with  an  amused  smile. 
The  old  actor  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  mute 
disgust. 

"It  isn't  saying  much  either,"  the  patron  of  the 
People's  Theater  continued  somewhat  tartly. 
"Cordelia  wasn't  the  worst  that  happened  last 
night  by  any  means." 

"My  God  !"  the  Scotsman  groaned  fervently. 
"I  hope  nothing  as  bad  will  ever  happen  to  me 
again  in  this  life." 

Brainard's  doubts  of  MacNaughton's  fitness  for 
his  position  of  manager  grew  rapidly  from  this 
moment  into  a  conviction  that  eventually  pro 
duced  difficulties  in  the  hitherto  harmonious 
management  of  the  theatrical  enterprise.  Another 
disturbing  current  set  in  motion  by  the  young 
person  from  lole,  Kansas  ! 

Brainard  and  Farson  discussed  at  some  length 
the  details  of  Louisiana's  trip.  The  secretary 
was  firmly  convinced  that  some  sort  of  chaperone 
should  be  provided  for  the  girl.  She  needed  a 
duenna  or  guardian,  he  said,  to  keep  her  out  of 
scrapes,  if  ever  a  woman  did.  When  this  idea  was 
suggested  to  Miss  Delacourt,  it  received  an  im 
mediate  and  positive  discouragement. 

"I  don't  know  any  female  whom  I  could  endure 
to  have  trailing  around  after  me,"  she  said.  "And 
what's  the  use,  anyhow  ?  They  won't  eat  me  up 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  291 

over  there,  I  reckon.  I've  always  managed  to 
look  out  for  myself  so  far,  and  I'm  not  likely  to  for 
get  how  now  I've  something  worth  doing  to  keep 
me  busy.  .  .  .  No,  I'll  go  it  alone,  thank  you, 
or  not  at  all  until  I'm  ready  to  select  my  own 
guardian." 

With  this  she  cast  Farson  a  belligerent  look  that 
delighted  Brainard.  When  the  secretary  tried 
to  explain  in  circumspect  terms  the  manifold 
dangers  to  which  a  young  woman  traveling  alone 
was  necessarily  exposed,  she  said : 

"I'm  going  to  take  the  pup  along.  A  good 
dog  is  worth  any  two  chaperones  in  case  of 
trouble." 

Brainard  observed  finally  : 

"I  think  Miss  Delacourt  is  right.  She  will  get 
on  very  well  anywhere  by  herself.  She  has  the 
habit  of  independence." 

"You  see!"  the  young  woman  remarked,  nod 
ding  loftily  to  Farson.  "You  are  too  conven 
tional  for  the  theater.  I  have  the  habit  of  per 
fect  independence,  as  your  boss  said.  And  I  don't 
propose  to  give  it  up  in  a  hurry  either." 

With  this  second  jab  at  the  secretary  she 
squeezed  her  dog  in  an  ecstasy  of  good  spirits. 

This  important  question  being  settled,  there 
remained  merely  the  plan  of  work  and  travel, 
which  Brainard  undertook  to  prepare  and  to 


292  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

which  he  gave  much  careful  consideration.  Then 
the  passage  was  engaged,  and  the  morning  of  the 
sailing  the  three  had  a  pleasant  breakfast  together 
at  a  little  down-town  restaurant.  Louisiana 
appeared  in  what  she  called  "  the  proper  make-up 
for  her  new  part,"  -  a  smart  traveling  costume, 
with  fresh  hat,  gloves,  boots,  and  parasol.  Brain- 
ard  was  glad  to  see  that  she  had  made  such  an 
immediate  and  natural  use  of  the  liberal  means  he 
had  placed  at  her  disposal  through  his  secretary, 
although  the  transformation  worked  by  her  new 
costume  took  away  a  certain  quality  of  primitive 
girlishness  that  was  pleasant  to  him.  Louisiana 
was  emerging  rapidly  from  her  chrysalis  under 
the  stimulus  of  the  opportunity  he  had  provided 
for  her.  As  he  sat  back  and  watched  her  spar 
with  Farson,  he  wondered  whether  the  old  Louis 
iana  would  ever  return  from  Europe.  What  sort 
of  woman  would  take  the  place  of  the  girl  who  had 
made  her  debut  in  the  most  unconventional  Cor 
delia  the  English  stage  had  ever  seen  ? 

At  any  rate  everything  was  spontaneous  in  her 
now,  —  not  a  trace  of  self-consciousness  in  her 
attitude  to  him  as  her  benefactor,  and  all  the 
simplicity  and  directness  of  the  child  which  had 
first  touched  him. 

"He  says  he's  going  to  write  a  piece  for  the 
theater  and  put  me  in,"  Louisiana  remarked  turn- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  293 

ing  to  Brainard.  "He'd  better  let  me  see  it 
first  —  I'll  give  him  a  few  points  most  men  writers 
overlook.  .  .  .  You'll  keep  the  theater  open  until 
I  get  back?" 

"Longer  than  that,  we  hope !"  Brainard 
laughed. 

"I  want  to  make  my  debut  there  —  my  real 
debut,"  she  said  importantly. 

"I  promise  you  we'll  keep  it  open  for  that !" 

"You'd  better  fire  the  whole  bunch  and  start 
over,"  she  observed  thoughtfully.  .  .  . 

At  the  last  moment,  when  Farson  had  already 
gone  down  the  gangway,  the  girl  drew  Brain 
ard  to  one  side  and  uttered  the  first  serious  words 
they  had  had  since  their  talk  in  her  dressing  room 
the  night  of  Lear. 

"It's  no  use  saying  thanks,  you  know  !" 

"I  don't  want  you  to  thank  me." 

"I  know  you  don't  and  I'm  not  —  but  I  want 
you  to  know  I  understand." 

"What?" 

"What  you're  doing  for  me.  ...  I'll  make 
good." 

"I  believe  you  will!" 

"Good-by!" 

She  gave  him  a  lean  little  hand  that  gripped  his 
nervously.  The  last  he  saw  of  Louisiana  Dela- 
court  as  he  went  over  the  ship's  side,  she  was 


294  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

chasing  her  dog  into  some  stranger's  deck  cabin. 
As  he  made  his  way  from  the  dock  towards 
the  People's  Theater  that  morning,  his  world 
seemed  less  gay  and  amusing  with  Louisiana  out 
of  it. 


IX 

AFTER  the  inglorious  failure  of  Lear,  they 
tried  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  with  Cecilia  Pyce, 
an  English  actress  of  advancing  years  and  a  large 
and  bony  physique,  whom  MacNaughton  much 
vaunted.  Brainard  suspected  that  Cissie,  as  Mac 
called  her,  had  been  the  Scotsman's  sweetheart  in 
her  palmier  days,  and  thus  he  was  now  paying  his 
sentimental  debts  by  giving  her  a  lucrative  posi 
tion  at  his  patron's  expense.  However,  nothing 
better  offered  at  present,  and  Miss  Pyce  at  least 
knew  how  to  act  in  the  solid  old  English  fashion. 
The  people  came  sparingly,  and  sat  in  the  first 
four  rows  of  the  big  auditorium,  which  was  a  lone 
some  sort  of  place  these  days. 

It  was  little  better  when  the  company  essayed 
an  "original  American  play"  — as  it  was  adver 
tised  —  that  Farson  had  culled  from  the  mass  of 
manuscripts  he  had  examined.  May  Magic 
lasted  a  week,  and  then  fell  to  pieces  before  an 
audience  consisting  of  the  author  and  about 
twenty  of  his  friends.  The  management  could 
not  even  give  their  tickets  away.  At  May 

295 


296  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Magic  the  critics  took  final  leave  of  the  People's 
Theater  with  such  parting  kicks  as  this : 

What  in  the  name  of  common  sense  is  the  amateurish 
aggregation  at  the  so-called  People's  Theater  trying  to  do  ? 
In  what  sense  is  it  a  popular  theater?  The  "people"  arc 
conspicuous  by  their  absence.  The  worthy  gentleman  who 
is  spending  his  money  giving  the  public  fifth- rate  produc 
tions  of  English  classics  and  such  rejected  modern  master 
pieces  as  May  Magic  had  better  go  over  to  Broadway  and 
learn  his  trade. 

Brainard  was  thankful  that  Louisiana  was  safe 
on  the  high  seas  on  her  way  to  Munich,  and  would 
not  see  this  article  ! 

Somewhere  Farson  ran  across  a  statuesque  young 
woman  of  German  extraction  who  spoke  English 
as  if  she  had  a  cracker  in  her  mouth,  and  became 
persuaded  that  the  mission  of  their  organization 
was  to  introduce  to  the  American  public  the  new 
plays  of  the  advanced  European  theater. 

"We  must  become  the  theater  of  ideas,"  he 
said  to  Brainard. 

So,  with  the  assistance  of  Miss  Beatrice  Klinker 
in  leading  roles,  the  People's  Theater  became 
frankly  "highbrow"  and  went  after  Brieux,  Haupt- 
mann,  Strindberg,  and  the  tribe  of  the  peculiar. 
Brainard  poured  out  money  like  water  in  buying 
rights  at  exorbitant  prices,  in  preparing  new 
scenery,  and  in  expensive  additions  to  the  com- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  297 

pany.  He  foresaw  that  at  this  rate,  instead  of 
starting  a  chain  of  popular  theaters  across  the 
continent,  he  would  have  all  he  could  do  to  main 
tain  one  organization  in  New  York,  with  possibly 
a  couple  of  road  companies.  For  the  receipts 
were  always  negligible.  To  such  comparatively 
modest  limits  had  his  great  Idea  already  shrunken. 
If  he  had  not  thus  far  succeeded  in  enlightening 
any  large  section  of  the  American  Public  in  dra 
matic  art,  he  himself  had  received  a  very  thorough 
and  costly  lesson,  not  merely  in  the  drama,  but 
in  human  nature  and  life.  That,  however,  had 
not  been  his  purpose  ! 

It  was  not  until  the  People's  Theater  produced 
an  erotic  piece  by  a  new  Danish  writer,  whose 
name  was  unknown  to  the  critics,  that  the  house 
began  to  fill. 

"We've  struck  our  pace!"  Farson  declared 
jubilantly.  He  exercised  all  his  journalistic  in 
genuity  in  whetting  the  appetite  of  the  New  York 
public  for  the  play  with  immediate  results  in  the 
box  office.  Brainard,  although  he  had  no  high 
opinion  of  the  play,  felt  relieved  not  to  encounter 
at  each  performance  the  same  dreary  waste  of 
empty  seats.  He  comforted  himself  with  the 
thought  that  if  the  Public  could  be  induced  to 
come  to  a  "sex  play,"  they  might  be  captured  for 
less  hectic  entertainments.  MacNaughton  and 


298  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Farson,  with  the  easy  sophistry  of  the  theater, 
maintained  that  what  people  cared  to  see  must  be 
good  art  and  stoutly  defended  the  Danish  piece. 

But  their  good  luck  did  not  hold.  At  the  Satur 
day  matinee  of  the  first  week  the  police  visited 
the  theater  and  the  curtain  was  ordered  down  after 
the  bedroom  scene  in  the  second  act.  There 
was  a  mild  demonstration  among  the  audience, 
whose  curiosity  was  defeated,  and  the  price  of 
their  tickets  was  repaid  to  all  who  demanded  it. 
The  press  made  considerable  noise  over  the  event. 

"We're  made!"  MacNaughton  announced  in 
great  excitement.  Farson  was  busy  with  the  re 
porters,  trying  to  get  the  most  out  of  this  unex 
pected  bit  of  publicity.  Brainard  set  forth  in 
search  of  the  virtuous  police  commissioner  to  pro 
test  in  the  name  of  outraged  Art.  But  the  com 
missioner  was  impervious  to  Art. 

"That  sort  of  show  don't  go  in  New  York,"  he 
pronounced  austerely,  in  reply  to  Brainard's 
argument  that  the  play  had  been  given  even  more 
boldly  in  Vienna  and  Berlin  and  was  held  to  be  a 
"moral  document"  by  the  best  European  critics. 
The  police  commissioner  seemed  to  think  that 
New  York  had  a  different  and  better  morality 
than  that  obtaining  in  Europe.  He  was  obdurate. 
When  Brainard  reported  his  failure  to  his  associ 
ates,  Farson  took  it  very  lightly. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  299 

"All  we'll  have  to  do,"  he  suggested,  "is  to 
make  some  slight  changes  —  put  a  screen  in  front 
of  the  bed  scene  —  and  see  the  inspector.  I'll 
take  care  of  him." 

But  Brainard  refused  to  pay  the  police  to  be 
allowed  to  produce  his  play,  and  so  on  Monday 
night  the  People's  Theater  remained  dark. 

"And  just  look  at  all  that  money  !"  MacNaugh- 
ton  wailed,  as  something  of  a  crowd  began  to  form 
in  front  of  the  theater  for  the  first  time.  "The 
governor  is  a  miserable  puritan,"  he  said  to  Far- 
son,  wringing  his  hands.  "To  think  of  turning 
his  back  on  his  luck  just  because  of  the  morality 
of  the  New  York  police  !  He  ought  to  run  a 
Sunday  school." 

Brainard  was  not  to  be  moved,  although  the 
theater  would  have  to  remain  closed  for  a  week 
until  the  company  could  prepare  another  play. 
He  was  deeply  disgusted  with  the  whole  affair, 
with  the  notoriety  as  well  as  the  cheap  pretense  of 
morality  by  the  police  commissioner.  For  the 
first  time  in  four  years  his  faith  in  the  great  Idea 
began  to  waver,  and  he  longed  to  escape  from 
New  York  to  the  more  vital  air  of  Arizona.  There 
had  been  some  difficulty  recently  with  the  pumps 
at  the  Melody  mine,  and  he  might  well  take  this 
opportunity  of  running  down  to  Monument. 
Once  there  it  would  be  a  temptation  to  abandon 


300  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

the  great  Idea  altogether  and  to  remain  in  the 
mountains  developing  the  copper  mine.  Or  he 
could  buy  a  coffee  plantation  in  Jalapa,  as  he  had 
once  fleetingly  thought  of  doing,  and  settle  himself 
in  Mexico  like  a  medieval  prince.  Possibly  the 
little  senorita  Marie  had  not  yet  found  another 
Prince  and  had  waited  all  these  years  for  his  ex 
pected  return.  The  vision  of  that  beautiful  semi- 
tropical  valley  dominated  by  the  snowy  crown  of 
the  old  volcano  returned  to  his  memory  with 
alluring  colors.  Life  in  such  a  far-off  Eden  with  a 
gentle  creature  as  mistress  of  a  rose-covered 
hagienda  was  an  inviting  contrast  to  the  glare  and 
vulgarity  of  New  York.  .  .  . 

Brainard  and  the  secretary  left  the  theater  in 
glum  silence,  each  possessed  by  an  unhappy  train 
of  thought.  On  their  way  uptown  they  passed  a 
billboard  on  which  some  flaming  posters  dis 
played  certain  tempting  scenes  from  a  soul-and- 
body-stirring  play  called  The  Stolen  Bonds,  now 
being  given  for  the  first  time  in  New  York. 
Brainard  paused  before  the  gaudy  billboard. 

"What  the  public  really  likes!"  Parson  com 
mented  with  a  grin. 

Brainard  remembered  Louisiana's  angry  taunt, 
—  "  Go  and  see  a  good  melodrama  —  see  what 
folks  are  willing  to  pay  real  money  for  !" 

"Let's  take  it  in  !"  he  exclaimed,  seizing  his 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  301 

companion's  arm.  "We  haven't  anything  else 
to  do  this  evening." 

"We'll  get  all  the  goods  before  we  reach  the 
show,"  the  secretary  observed,  pointing  to  another 
series  of  immense  posters  that  represented  a 
gloomy  bank  vault  in  which  a  masked  gentleman 
was  holding  a  lantern  above  the  prostrate  form  of 
a  woman.  "They're  not  afraid  of  giving  away 
their  story  !" 

"Perhaps  we  shall  find  the  great  American  play 
we  have  been  hunting  for  all  this  year,"  Brainard 
replied,  as  they  came  into  the  garish  foyer  of  the 
theater.  At  one  side  was  the  entrance  to  a  brilliant 
saloon,  which  seemed  part  of  the  establishment. 
"Democratic  and  convivial  this,"  he  joked,  think 
ing  of  the  dainty  "tea  room"  at  the  People's. 

There  were  only  box  seats  left.  When  the 
two  pushed  aside  the  plush  curtains  that  con 
cealed  these  luxurious  retreats,  the  curtain  was 
up  and  the  first  act  had  started  before  a  house 
packed  with  prosperous-looking  citizens  and  their 
women. 

"Not  a  dead  seat  in  the  house,  I'll  bet !"  whis 
pered  the  secretary. 

The  scene  represented  the  inside  of  an  office,  with 
a  large  safe  at  one  side.  The  short,  black-haired 
heroine  was  striving  ineffectually  to  bar  the  way  of 
a  brawny  villain,  who  had  her  covered  with  a  re- 


302  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

volver  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  whipped 
an  ether  cone  from  an  inner  pocket.  She  was 
rapidly  crowded  into  the  vault,  where  she  suc 
cumbed  in  due  time,  after  a  muscular  struggle  and 
curdling  shrieks,  to  the  ether  cone.  Thereupon 
the  burglar  set  busily  to  work  to  fill  an  enormous 
sample  case  with  piles  of  yellow  currency  and 
bundles  conveniently  labeled  BONDS,  in  large 
letters,  so  that  a  child  might  read.  The  villain 
then  departed,  carefully  locking  the  door  of  the 
safe  upon  the  etherized  heroine. 

But  the  villain  had  reckoned  without  the  tele 
phone.  In  the  next  scene  the  stenographer- 
heroine  slowly  grabbed  the  ether  cone  from  her 
face,  gaspingly  crawled  to  the  corner,  where  the 
telephone  hung  conspicuously,  and  called  Central. 
Presently  the  bolts  began  to  grumble,  and  were 
shot  back  by  a  young  man  who  rushed  in  and 
dragged  the  tottering  woman  from  the  safe,  while 
she  murmured  in  a  dying  whisper  audible  for  two 
blocks : 

"The  ferry,  Jasper  !     The  ferry  !     The  thief  !" 

Then  the  noble  girl  fell  swooning  and  apparently 
lifeless. 

"There's  something  doing!"  Farson  remarked 
with  an  appreciative  grin,  and  added  with  a  pecul 
iar  expression,  "They've  taken  more  than  a  hint 
from  my  one  play." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  303 

"And  several  more  from  life,"  Brainard 
muttered. 

"I  believe  it  is  life  through  the  medium  of  my 
play  —  but  altered  somehow,"  Farson  observed. 

"Oh!  much  altered!" 

The  next  scene  was  labeled,  "AT  THE  FERRY  SLIP 
—  SAN  FRANCISCO."  As  the  curtain  rose,  the 
villain  —  no  longer  masked,  but  with  a  long  ulster 
concealing  all  but  his  sinister  eyes  —  was  deftly 
transferring  himself  and  his  sample  case,  stuffed 
with  money  and  bonds,  on  board  the  ferry 
boat.  The  bell  rang  —  business  in  the  wings. 
Then  on  rushed  the  hero-lover,  clutching  vainly 
at  the  disappearing  sample  case.  There  was  a 
desperate  tussle  between  the  hero  and  the  villain, 
while  the  dummy  passengers  on  the  deck  above 
obligingly  turned  their  backs.  The  villain  cut 
loose  from  his  pursuer  with  a  wicked  knife,  threw 
the  case  upon  the  moving  boat,  and  leaped  two 
yards  after  it,  leaving  the  prostrate  figure  of  the 
hero-lover  half  dropping  over  the  slip.  The 
stenographer-heroine  appeared  —  in  a  neat  trav 
eling  suit  —  and  pulled  her  lover  safely  ashore. 
Curtain. 

"Bravo!"  Farson  shouted  enthusiastically. 
"If  it  isn't  exactly  life,  it's  the  way  we'd  all  like 
to  have  it  happen,  anyway." 

"It  may  be  nearer  life  than  you  think,"  Brain- 


304  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

ard  assented  with  a  queer  smile.  In  this  scene 
he  had  been  able  to  get  a  good  view  of  the  heroine 
of  the  piece.  Beneath  the  coarse  make-up  he 
thought  he  recognized  familiar  features,  and  felt 
sure  that  he  had  heard  in  real  life  that  pert,  nasal 
voice  which  had  just  uttered  the  last  speech  — 
"Escaped!  We'll  track  him  into  the  darkest 
wilds  of  Africa  !" 

"  Recognize  a  friend  ?  "  Farsori  inquired.  Brain- 
ard  nodded.  They  turned  over  the  leaves  of 
their  program  to  find  the  name  of  the  heroine. 
It  was  Lorilla  Walters,  in  large  black  type. 

"Lorilla,"    Farson    murmured.     "Good    stage 


name." 


"It  sounds  like  her  !"  Brainard  agreed. 

Just  then  the  curtain  went  up  for  the  third  act. 
Here  was  a  rapid  succession  of  scenes  representing 
the  pursuit  and  escape  of  the  villain  in  the  Arizona 
desert,  with  one  very  lurid  background  of  flaming 
mountains  and  sagebrush  plain.  Pistol  shots 
and  a  chase  through  an  adobe  hagienda  outside  a 
Mexican  village  concluded  the  act. 

"Whew,  these  people  have  wire  nerves!"  Far- 
son  commented,  wiping  his  brow. 

"They  have  treated  the  story  rather  freely," 
Brainard  remarked  grimly.  Farson  talked  nerv 
ously. 

" Louisiana  would  like  that ! "  he  said.     "There's 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  305 

something  doing  all  the  time.     I  bet  that's  Lorilla. 
What  do  you  say  to  trying  her  at  the  People's  ? 
She's  a  trifle  broad  in  her  methods,  but  sound  - 
and  lets  herself  go  all  the  time.     It's  just  a  bit 
loud  in  tone." 

"Not  louder  than  life  sometimes." 
"It  carries  home  —  look  at  the  audience  !" 
In  the  fourth  act  the  villain  was  at  last  cor 
nered  by  the  stenographer-heroine  and  the  hero- 
lover,  aided  by  a  United  States  cruiser,  which 
intercepted  the  villain  and  his  sample  case  as 
they  were  about  to  sail  away  from  the  port  of  Vera 
Cruz  on  a  Spanish  steamer.  The  captain  of  the 
steamer  on  which  the  villain  had  taken  refuge  with 
his  sample  case  blasphemously  defied  the  flag  of 
the  United  States  with  loud  curses.  But  a  boom 
ing  shot  from  the  wings  knocked  his  smokestack 
out  of  service,  and  brought  him  to  his  senses. 
The  captain  thereafter  gracefully  received  the 
smart  American  lieutenant  who  came  aboard  in 
holiday  uniform  and  collared  the  villain,  denounced 
by  the  heroine,  as  he  cowered  behind  the  fallen 
smokestack  —  still  wearing  the  long  ulster. 

They  applauded  vigorously  and  were  about  to 
drift  out  with  the  crowd  of  candy-eating  females 
and  their  escorts,  when  the  curtains  of  the  box 
were  parted  by  a  gentleman  in  evening  clothes, 
who  stood  smiling,  holding  his  spotless  silk  hat 


306  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

in  one  hand  and  extending  the  other  to  Brain- 
ard. 

"Hello  !"  the  stranger  said  easily,  as  if  he  were 
greeting  a  casual  acquaintance  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  several  days.  He  came  forward  into  the 
box,  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  dangling 
his  glossy  silk  hat.  "Saw  you  from  behind," 
he  added,  smiling  slightly  upon  Brainard,  whose 
surprise  was  evident. 

"You,  Hollinger!"  the  latter  exclaimed,  re 
covering  himself.  "What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"Oh,  in  the  show  business,  —  same  as  you," 
he  added  with  a  little  laugh. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  you  - 

"Was  in  that  Jalapa  hotel  where  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  delivering  a  little  lecture  on  life  for 
your  benefit,"  the  fight- trust  man  supplied.  "  You 
profited  by  it  at  once  —  that  very  night,  if  I  re 
member  rightly.  Rarely  does  a  teacher  of  morals 
get  such  a  rapid  reaction  !" 

"Yes  !"  Brainard  laughed.  "Necessity  pointed 
the  moral  to  your  talk  with  a  kick.  I  left  on  a 
mule  car,  and  got  away  just  in  time." 

"So  Galloway  told  me  the  next  morning.  We 
tried  to  keep  your  friends  interested  in  Jalapa 
until  the  boat  sailed.  I  take  it  that  we  succeeded." 

"  Yes,  I  owe  you  a  great  deal  for  that  good  turn." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  Hollinger  murmured,  slip- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  307 

ping  into  the  chair,  "always  ready  to  serve  a 
friend." 

Brainard  introduced  Farson,  who  knew  the 
"king  of  the  prize  ring  trust"  by  sight,  for  Hollin- 
ger  had  been  a  celebrated  figure  on  the  Coast  in 
the  days  before  the  graft  trials.  The  three  chatted 
for  a  time  while  the  auditorium  emptied. 

"How  did  you  like  our  play?"  he  inquired 
casually. 

"Your  play  !     It's  suspiciously  like  mine." 

"Perhaps  we  drew  from  the  same  sources." 

"How  did  you  get  into  the  theatrical  business  ?" 
Brainard  inquired. 

"I  got  into  it  in  a  rather  roundabout  way,"  the 
fight- trust  magnate  explained.  "You  remember 
the  event  at  Jalapa  ?  The  American  papers  were 
full  of  it  at  the  time.  I  was  interested  in  the  mov 
ing  picture  concession  for  the  States.  We  ex 
pected  to  make  big  money  out  of  it.  But  they 
had  another  spasm  of  virtue  in  this  country  about 
that  time,  and  we  were  shut  out  of  the  best  cir 
cuits.  So  from  the  movies  I  got  into  vaudeville 
and  then  into  the  regular  show  business.  Have  a 
couple  of  circuits  on  the  Coast  and  interests  in 
the  East  also.  This  is  one  of  my  companies. 
They've  done  a  tremendous  business  out  West  in 
this  thing  —  did  it  appeal  to  you  ?" 

He  smiled  genially  at  Brainard,  and  added : 


308  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"We  couldn't  work  in  the  hagienda  scene,  - 
roses,  moonlight,  Orizaba,    pretty    Mexican    girl, 
and  the  rest,  —  it  took  too  much  scenery." 

"We  thought  it  was  a  trifle  overdrawn,"  Brain- 
ard  observed. 

"Oh,  the  theater  demands  that,  you  know,  - 
exaggeration.  Art  is  never  quite  like  nature. 
Even  Milton  threw  it  on  thick  at  times,  if  I  rec 
ollect.  .  .  .  But  it  stirs  the  blood  —  that's 
what  you  want  in  these  dull  times.  People  come 
to  the  theater  to  feel,  their  lives  are  so  dull. 
That's  the  first  thing  I  learned  in  the  show  busi 
ness.  Give  the  public  something  to  tease  the 
nerves,  keep  'em  on  the  jump.  And  the  second 
thing  I  learned  was  that  you  must  always  hold 
up  a  high  moral  standard.  It  never  pays  in  the 
long  run  to  cater  to  the  small  class  that  can  afford 
to  think  about  morals  as  freely  as  they  act."  He 
looked  at  Brainard  meaningly.  "I  saw  your 
show  last  week,"  he  explained.  "It's  not  really 
tough,  but  it  don't  pay  to  do  that  sort  of  thing. 
Most  people,  of  course,  are  not  half  as  good  as 
they  like  to  think  they  are.  But  even  the  worst 
want  their  art  and  literature  better  than  they 
know  they  are  and  better  than  they  think  their 
neighbors  are.  That's  the  way  they  square  them 
selves  with  life,"  he  concluded  sententiously. 

This  was  the  second  time,  Brainard  reflected. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  309 

that  he  had  received  a  valuable  lesson  in  ethics 
from  the  fight-trust  magnate.  He  understood 
now  why  Hollinger  had  been  reading  Milton  when 
he  first  made  his  acquaintance  on  the  Overland 
Limited.  He  was  a  business  philosopher. 

"If  you  are  going  to  deal  with  people,"  he  added 
gently,  "you  must  know  how  they  act  and  feel 
about  things." 

"I  suppose  that  is  why  you  let  the  heroine  cap 
ture  the  thief  in  this  piece  ?"  Brainard  remarked. 

"Precisely  !  The  clever  young  dramatist  who 
knocked  the  thing  together  for  me  was  all  for 
another  ending,  a  more  convincing  one,  perhaps, 
where  the  heroine  was  bought  off  for  a  good  share  of 
the  bonds  and  currency.  But  although  admitting 
the  truth  of  his  reasoning,  I  could  not  permit  him 
to  ruin  the  success  of  our  play.  We  were  compelled 
to  violate  nature  again,  and  in  deference  to  the 
public's  unquenchable  thirst  for  Virtue  we  allowed 
the  slow-moving  heroine  to  accomplish  the  dire 
purpose  of  her  vengeful  passions  with  the  assistance 
of  the  government.  In  its  present  form  our  play 
is  terribly  satisfying  to  our  public.  It  gratifies 
especially  that  common  human  desire  to  get  some 
body.  Half  our  criminal  justice  is  built  upon  the 
same  unpleasant  trait  of  human  nature.  ...  By 
the  way,"  he  remarked,  interrupting  the  flow  of 
his  philosophical  analysis,  "I  almost  forgot ! 


310  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

There's  a  friend  of  yours  in  behind  who  wants  to 
see  you.  I  promised  to  bring  you  back.  You've 
no  objections  ?  " 

"None  at  all !"  Brainard  laughed.  "You  see 
our  encounter  didn't  turn  out  quite  like  the  play, 
fortunately  for  me  !" 

"So  I  understand,"  Hollinger  replied  demurely, 
holding  the  curtain  aside  to  let  the  others  precede 
him. 


X 

THEY  found  the  leading  lady  waiting  for  them 
on  the  darkened  stage.  She  was  dressed  quite 
handsomely  in  her  street  costume,  with  the  in 
evitable  fur  coat  that  seems  the  most  character 
istic  mark  of  her  profession.  Without  her  make 
up  and  stage  costume  she  looked  much  older  than 
Brainard  remembered  her  to  be  and  also  stouter. 
But  her  dark  face  and  flashing  eyes  still  preserved 
an  air  of  confident  assurance  in  her  good  looks 
that  had  characterized  Krutzmacht's  stenog 
rapher. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Wilkins!"  she  said 
promptly  as  the  men  approached  her.  At  that 
unfortunate  nom  de  guerre  Farson  laughed  out 
right.  Hollinger  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Mr.  Edgar  Brainard,  of  the  new  People's 
Theater;  Miss  Lorilla  Walters  of  The  Stolen 
Bonds  company,"  the  fight- trust  man  said  with 
a  little  cough. 

"We  seem  both  to  have  changed  names," 
Brainard  observed,  shaking  hands  with  the  lead 
ing  lady. 

311 


312  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Walters  is  my  stage  name,"  the  former  stenog 
rapher  snapped. 

"Wilkins  was  mine  —  for  a  few  hours  !"  Brain- 
ard  laughed. 

There  followed  an  awkward  pause.  In  spite 
of  the  amiable  greeting,  Brainard  could  see  fire 
in  the  woman's  dark  eyes  and  realized  that  it  was 
not  simply  for  the  pleasure  of  meeting  her  former 
antagonist  again  that  she  had  got  Hollinger  to 
bring  him  behind  the  scenes.  He  realized  also 
from  the  determined  bearing  and  solid  form  of 
the  woman  he  had  once  unceremoniously  locked  up 
in  Krutzmacht's  safe  for  an  hour,  that  she  possessed 
a  kind  of  vindictive  energy  which  might  easily  be 
come  troublesome  to  any  man  she  disliked.  For  a 
brief  moment  he  wished  that  a  wayward  fate  had 
not  led  his  steps  on  this  evening  into  the  Boulevard 
Theater.  But  it  was  so  patently  absurd  that  the 
woman  could  in  any  way  touch  him  now  after 
all  these  years  that  he  easily  put  aside  the  thought. 
He  had  led  his  new  life  so  long,  tested  himself 
with  men  and  affairs  so  thoroughly  that  his  early 
adventures  in  Krutzmacht's  service  seemed  to 
him  more  like  a  youthful  escapade  than  reality. 

During  this  mute  encounter  Farson  and  Hoi- 
linger  watched  the  two  with  interest.  Hollinger 
leaned  against  one  of  the  properties  of  the  last 
act  in  The  Stolen  Bonds,  a  slightly  satirical 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  313 

smile  on  his  lips  as  if  he  found  much  intellectual 
amusement  in  the  situation. 

"That's  a  pretty  lively  show  you  have  made 
out  of  our  little  affair,"  Brainard  remarked  at 
last  to  the  leading  lady.  "You've  touched  up 
the  story  all  along  and  the  denouement  isn't  ac 
cording  to  the  facts  as  I  remember  them." 

Miss  Walters  gave  a  little  twitch  to  her  short 
veil  as  she  snapped  meaningly : 

"Perhaps  it  isn't  finished  yet !" 

"As  our  friend  Hollinger  has  been  proving  to 
me,"  Brainard  continued  in  his  scoffing  tone, 
"Art  and  Nature  don't  always  jibe.  The  artist  has 
always  found  fault  with  dull  fact,  and  he  gets  his 
revenge  upon  the  real  world  as  you  took  yours 
to-night  in  the  play." 

"One  gets  it  somehow,"  Miss  Walters  replied 
enigmatically. 

"If  you  are  going  to  discuss  Art  and  Nature," 
Hollinger  put  in  genially,  "let's  go  to  some  place 
where  we  can  have  supper." 

"A  good  idea,"  Brainard  agreed.  "Come 
home  with  me.  My  man  usually  has  something 
ready  for  me  at  this  time." 

He  felt  that  something  more  vital  than  a  dis 
cussion  of  Art  and  Nature  was  impending  and 
thought  that  his  own  house  would  be  a  better 
place  for  an  animated  interview  than  a  public 


314  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

cafe.  So  the  four  picked  their  way  in  the  gloom 
among  the  bulky  properties  of  The  Stolen  Bonds 
to  the  stage  exit  and  there  found  a  cab,  which 
carried  them  quickly  to  the  little  house  in  Gram- 
ercy  Park.  Miss  Walters  did  not  open  her  mouth 
during  the  ride;  Hollinger  and  Farson  main 
tained  a  factitious  conversation  on  politics,  and 
the  contrasts  between  San  Francisco  and  New 
York.  The  fight-trust  man  ridiculed  "progres- 
sivism,"  which  was  just  then  coming  into  vogue, 
shrewdly  pointing  out  that  it  merely  cloaked 
the  aspirations  of  "the  little  fellows"  to  "get  big 
Capital,"  and  praised  California  as  the  only  place 
for  an  American  to  live  in.  From  time  to  time 
Brainard  eyed  the  actress  from  his  corner  of  the 
cab,  wondering  what  her  relations  with  his 
versatile  acquaintance  might  be.  She  did  not 
seem  interested  in  the  conversation  and  stared 
steadily  into  the  street. 

#•  There  were  bottles  and  cold  meats  on  the  table 
in  the  dining  room  as  Brainard  had  promised. 
Farson  discovered  in  the  pantry  the  ingredients 
for  a  hot  dish,  and  Hollinger  showed  himself  to 
be  an  expert  in  this  sort  of  an  impromptu  feast. 
The  three  men  were  soon  busy  with  chafing 
dish  and  corkscrew  in  a  comradely  way,  but  Miss 
Walters,  refusing  to  lay  aside  her  long  fur  coat 
and  hat,  sauntered  about  the  cheerful  room,  exam- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  315 

ining  carefully  the  pictures  and  prints  upon 
the  walls,  the  furniture  and  appointments,  which 
though  not  especially  luxurious  were  thoroughly 
comfortable. 

"Is  this  your  house  ?"  she  asked  her  host  point 
blank,  and  when  he  nodded  she  remarked : 

"A  pretty  cozy  sort  of  place." 

"It  is  comfortable,"  Brainard  agreed,  "and 
very  convenient.  I  can't  stand  hotels,"  he  added 
by  way  of  excuse. 

"Some  of  us  have  to  stand  'em  and  be  mighty 
thankful  when  they're  fit  to  live  in." 

Not  having  any  appropriate  reply  to  this  re 
mark,  Brainard  urged  the  actress  to  lay  aside 
her  wraps  and  sit  down  before  the  fire,  which  he 
had  stirred  into  a  blaze.  She  grudgingly  unbut 
toned  her  coat  and  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  large 
chair  he  pushed  to  the  hearth,  stretching  forth 
her  worn  shoes  to  the  warmth,  and  hitching  up 
her  skirt  in  a  slightly  vulgar  manner. 

When  Hollinger  announced  that  his  dish  was 
ready,  the  four  drew  up  at  the  table  and  had 
supper,  which,  thanks  to  Farson  and  the  fight-trust 
man,  was  lively  enough.  They  discussed  theatri 
cal  matters,  especially  the  Danish  play  on  which 
the  People's  had  come  to  grief.  Hollinger  main 
tained  that  the  trouble  with  the  play  was  that  it 
was  neither  moral  nor  immoral  enough.  It  was 


316  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

simply  too  much  like  life.  "If  you  are  going  in 
for  vice,  you  must  paint  it  red,"  he  pronounced. 
The  leading  lady  listened  and  taciturnly  ate  her 
supper.  Afterwards  she  accepted  a  cigarette 
and  turned  again  to  the  fire.  Brainard  searched 
his  brain  for  a  topic  that  might  interest  her  and 
finally  asked : 

"How  long  have  you  been  on  the  stage,  Miss 
Walters?" 

"It  was  a  good  many  years  ago,  the  first  show 
I  was  in,"  she  replied,  and  added  with  intention, 
-  "before  I  met  Krutzmacht." 
"Where  was  that  ?"  he  asked  lightly. 
"In  Los  Angeles  in  ninety-two." 
"You  gave  up  the  stage  for  a  time  ?" 
"Yes,"  she  said  slowly.     "He  wanted  me  to." 
"Oh!" 

Supper  being  finished,  Brainard  led  the  way  to 
the  large  living  room  on  the  floor  above.  Here 
there  were  books,  pictures,  and  old  theatrical 
bills  that  seemed  to  interest  Hollinger.  He  and 
Farson  remained  at  one  end  of  the  room  and  thus 
gave  Brainard  a  further  opportunity  for  conver 
sation  with  Miss  Walters.  Somewhat  softened 
by  the  good  supper  and  the  friendly  reception,  she 
began  to  talk  more  freely  of  herself,  her  early 
experiences  on  the  stage  in  a  small  stock  company 
that  played  in  the  little  towns  of  central  and  south- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  317 

ern  California,  until  she  met  Herbert  Krutzmacht, 
who  happened  to  be  in  Los  Angeles  one  night  when 
she  was  playing.  Brainard,  who  was  curious  to 
find  out  all  he  could  about  Krutzmacht,  observed 
carelessly : 

"You  w^ere  working  in  his  office  when  I  —  when 
we  last  met  ?" 

"Yes  —  I  was  working  for  him,"  she  said 
shortly. 

"Then  why,"  he  asked  suddenly,  "did  you 
try  to  sell  him  out  to  his  enemies  ?" 

"I  had  good  reasons,"  she  replied,  looking  him 
defiantly  in  the  face,  "a  woman's  reasons.  He 
hadn't  played  fair  with  me  !" 

"That  is,  hadn't  married  you  as  you  hoped  he 
would  ?"  Brainard  suggested. 

"I  didn't  say  that !"  she  flashed  quickly,  real 
izing  that  she  was  in  danger  of  committing  herself. 

"Well,  I  hope  the  railroad  people  paid  you 
well  for  your  services/' 

"They  quit  paying  me,  naturally,  after  you 
got  over  to  Europe  with  the  stuff  they  wanted 
and  sold  it  to  the  Germans." 

"They  dealt  with  the  Germans  instead," 
Brainard  laughed.  "It  might  have  paid  better 
to  stick  by  the  old  man  to  the  end  ?  .  .  .  So, 
after  we  parted  at  Vera  Cruz,  you  went  back  to 
the  stage  —  into  the  legitimate?" 


318  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Mr.  Hollinger  suggested  it  when  I  met  him 
at  Jalapa.  He  got  me  a  place  in  one  of  the  San 
Francisco  theaters  a  friend  of  his  was  running, 
and  then  later  on  when  he  went  into  the  show 
business  himself,  he  took  me  for  one  of  his  com 
panies." 

"Do  you  like  the  work  ?" 

"It's  as  good  as  anything  else,"  the  leading 
lady  replied,  "so  long  as  you've  got  to  work  for 
your  living." 

"Most  of  us  have  to  do  that." 

"Unless  we  are  clever  enough  to  get  somebody 
else  to  do  the  work  for  us,"  she  sneered. 

"Then  I  think  we  lose  most  of  the  fun." 

Miss  Walters  stared  at  him  skeptically. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  taking  that  lofty  tone 
with  me?" 

Brainard  laughed  good-naturedly.  He  found 
in  this  case,  as  he  had  in  so  many  others,  that  a 
little  personal  contact  with  an  enemy  modifies 
and  humanizes  any  antagonism.  "Eat  with 
an  enemy  and  lose  your  hate,"  is  an  old  proverb, 
the  truth  of  which  he  was  proving.  In  spite  of 
the  hardness  and  vulgarity  of  Miss  Lorilla  Walters, 
actress  and  stenographer,  there  was  something 
pathetic  in  her  commonplace  struggle  with  life, 
which  he  felt  through  her  brief  admissions.  She 
had  been  fighting  all  her  life  for  herself  with  some- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  319 

what  coarse  weapons,  the  only  ones  she  knew 
how  to  use,  and  her  appearance,  now  that  she 
had  lost  the  advantage  of  youth  and  was  declining 
towards  middle  age,  her  cheap  clothes,  her  defiant 
manner,  —  all  told  of  the  losing  game.  He  was 
already  beginning  to  wonder  what  he  could  do 
for  Krutzmacht's  old  stenographer,  wondering 
whether  by  any  chance  she  could  be  fitted  into 
the  People's  company,  when  his  amiable  medita 
tions  were  disagreeably  interrupted  by  the  ac 
tress. 

"It's  no  use  your  playing  the  great  philanthro 
pist  with  me,'9  she  said  truculently.  "I  know 
what  you  are." 

"What?" 

"A  crook." 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  happen  to  know  it." 

"The  trouble  always  has  been  from  the  mo 
ment  I  entered  Krutzmacht's  office  that  after 
noon  that  you  have  persisted  in  this  wrong 
idea.  You  took  me  for  a  common  thief  then, 
and  you  think  me  a  successful  swindler  now. 
Well,  it  happens  that  I  am  neither.  So  you  can't 
understand  ! " 

She  looked  over  the  comfortable  room,  which 
for  the  moment  they  had  to  themselves,  as  Far- 
son  had  taken  Hollinger  into  the  library. 


320  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"You  seem  to  have  done  very  well  by  yourself," 
she  observed. 

"I  was  Krutzmacht's  legitimate  agent  then, 
when  I  entered  his  office,  and  I  have  been  his 
executor  so  to  speak  every  since,"  —  and  as  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  skeptically,  he  added, 
"I  haven't  a  cent  of  my  own  —  really  not  a  cent; 
I  am  poorer  than  you  !" 

"You  want  me  to  believe  that  song?  .  .  . 
How  about  the  theater  and  the  mine  in  Arizona  ? 
You  see  I  have  been  following  you  up." 

"They  belong  to  somebody  else." 

"Indeed  —  to  whom  ?" 

"I  shan't  tell  you  that !" 

"Because  you  can't.  .  .  .    They  belong  to  me." 

"Prove  your  claim  then  !" 

"And  you  will  hand  them  over  on  a  platter 
with  a  fine  bow  ?  .  .  .  You  are  smooth  !" 

She  looked  into  Brainard's  smiling  face  with  an 
expression  of  perplexity. 

"But  until  you  can  prove  your  claim,  beyond 
doubt,  I  shall  continue  in  possession  both  of  the 
mine  and  of  the  theater  as  guardian  of  the  prop 
erty.  And  I  shall  fight  you  with  all  the  resources 
I  have  until  I  am  convinced  that  your  claim  is 
sound." 

The  actress  slowly  walked  to  the  fire  and  threw 
away  the  cigarette  she  had  been  smoking. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  321 

"Well,  I  guess  we  understand  each  other," 
she  said  in  a  less  truculent  voice. 

"I  think  we  do!" 

"You  are  a  curious  sort  of  idiot,"  she  remarked 
musingly.  "I  don't  see  why  we  should  fight. 
There's  enough  money  for  two  from  what  the 
papers  say  about  that  mine." 

"There's  a  great  deal  more  than  enough  for 
two,"  Brainard  laughed,  "in  one  sense,  but  only 
enough  for  one  in  another  —  the  right  one,"  he 
added  meaningly. 

The  actress  watched  him  closely  as  he  crossed 
the  room  to  straighten  a  picture  that  hung  awry 
on  the  wall.  She  swayed  gently  to  and  fro  in 
the  vulgar  pose  of  the  heroine  of  The  Stolen 
Bonds,  looking  into  the  fire.  When  she  glanced 
up  she  saw  that  Brainard  was  observing  her,  a 
slight  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was  thinking  that 
she  had  the  temperament  that  might  have  made 
a  good  actress,  but  had  been  hopelessly  spoiled 
by  her  bringing  up  and  environment. 

"Well?"  he  said.  "Are  you  ready  with  the 
proof?" 

"You  are  a  queer  sort  of  Willy, 'v  she  replied. 
"I  don't  believe  you  and  me  can  ever  rightly 
understand  each  other." 

"I  think  I  understand  you'9  Brainard  laughed; 
"you  want  Krutzmacht's  money  —  that  is  quite 


322  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

intelligible  !  And  you  may  not  think  so,  but  I 
am  sorry  for  you  —  I  would  really  like  to  help 
you  out  —  get  a  better  position  for  you  !" 

"But  you  won't  divide!" 

"Never  —  all  or  nothing." 

"Do  you  know  where  I'm  going  to-night  when 
I  leave  your  swell  little  house  ?  Over  on  Second 
Avenue  into  a  third-class  hotel  where  my  mother 
and  I  get  along  with  one  bedroom  between  us. 
Hollinger  don't  pay  any  big  salaries  ! " 

"I  am  sorry." 

"Krutzmacht  treated  me  like  most  men  treat 
women  they've  got  cheap.  I  had  no  reason  to 
be  loyal  to  him,  as  I  told  you." 

"Unless,"  Brainard  suggested  lightly,  "you 
happened  to  be  his  wife  !" 

Miss  Walters  ignored  the  implication  and  con 
tinued  explanatorily : 

"When  we  lost  you  at  Vera  Cruz,  and  the  rail 
road  men  I  was  working  for  had  no  more  use  for 
me,  I  was  down  and  out.  There  didn't  seem  to 
be  anything  for  anybody  from  Krutzmacht's 
money  except  what  the  Germans  got  and  you  ! 
So  I  went  into  the  show  that  I  told  you  of.  But 
it  seems  there  was  a  good  deal  more  property  I 
didn't  know  about  —  he  was  always  close 
mouthed.  You  were  clever  enough  to  find  that 
mine  and  keep  it  for  yourself.  ...  It  wasn't 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  323 

until  you  struck  New  York  that  anybody  heard 
about  it.  Then  the  papers  and  the  magazines 
were  full  of  it  and  of  you  and  of  all  the  money  you 
were  throwing  away  on  a  theater." 

"Publicity  is  one  of  the  penalties  of  success," 
Brainard  observed. 

"It  helped  me  to  find  you  !" 

Brainard  bowed  in  acknowledgment. 

"You  don't  want  any  more  trouble?"  she  sug 
gested  in  a  gentler  tone  than  she  had  previously 
used. 

"Don't  mind  trouble,"  Brainard  retorted 
quickly. 

"If  I  was  content  with  a  half  million  — "  , 

"Why  not  make  it  two?" 


XI 

AT  this  point  Hollinger  and  Farson  returned 
to  the  room.  Hollinger  looked  quickly  at  the 
position  of  the  two,  smiled  placidly,  and  helped 
himself  to  another  cigar  from  the  box  on  the 
table. 

"Exchanging  confidences  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Miss  Walters  persists  in  acting  all  the  time," 
Brainard  replied.  "She  thinks  this  is  a  sequel 
to  the  play  and  wants  me  to  hand  over  to  her  a 
lot  of  money." 

"Sometimes,"  Hollinger  observed  senten- 
tiously,  "that's  the  easiest  way  to  square  things, 
isn't  it?" 

Brainard  looked  at  the  fight-trust  man  in  as 
tonishment.  Was  he  an  accomplice  in  a  vulgar 
blackmail  game  ? 

"It's  not  my  way,"  he  -said  sharply. 

"Half  a  loaf  when  no  part  of  the  loaf  is  really 
yours  is  always  more  enjoyable  than  a  legal  scrim 
mage  over  the  whole  loaf,  it  seems  to  me." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Hollinger  threw  himself  into  an  easy-chair, 
lighted  his  cigar  carefully,  and  beamed  at  Brainard, 

324 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  325 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  my  young  friend," 
he  began,  "that  we  four  are,  so  to  speak,  all  in 
the  same  boat  ?  We  are  all  adventurers  —  of 
that  noble  company  of  gentlemen  and  lady  adven 
turers  in  life  —  to  paraphrase  the  quaint  motto 
of  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  Now  in  the  course 
of  the  complicated  tissue  of  adventure  that 
happens  to  have  brought  us  three  together  from 
very  unlike  walks  in  life,  you  "  — he  thrust  the  glow 
ing  point  of  his  cigar  towards  Brainard,  —  "have 
proved  to  be  the  Star.  You're  It !  You  hold  the 
bag,  so  to  speak.  You  seem  to  have  shared  some 
of  its  golden  contents  with  our  young  friend  here 
who  wants  to  write  plays,  as  he  tells  me.  I  do 
not  happen  to  want  anything  for  myself.  I  am 
perfectly  disinterested  in  this  case,  —  fortunately 
can  afford  to  be.  For  I  have  other  and  sufficiently 
fat  fish  frying  in  my  own  little  pan.  So  I  can  play 
the  gracious  role  of  Wisdom.  .  .  .  Why  not  be 
generous  to  the  lady  who  lost  in  this  matter  of 
the  old  Dutchman's  millions  —  you  can  afford 
it  —  and  nothing  becomes  a  young  unmarried 
Idealist  more  than  princely  generosity  with  other 
people's  dollars." 

"But — "  Brainard  began. 

"Pardon  me  —  one  moment  —  to  finish  clearing 
the  ground.  I  don't  know  the  precise  manner  in 
which  you  came  into  possession  of  Herbert  Krutz- 


326  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

macht's  money  any  more  than  I  know  exactly 
how  he  got  it  away  from  those  who  wanted  it. 
I  presume  the  methods  were  not  essentially  unlike. 
It  never  interests  me,  these  details  of  acquisition, 
-  to  know  just  how  our  plutocratic  masters  have 
raked  together  their  pelf.  But  the  method  of 
distribution  does  interest  me  tremendously.  The 
rich  usually  show  such  little  capacity  for  imagina 
tion  or  daring  in  the  disposal  of  their  wealth  ! 
However,  that  is  another  theme.  .  .  .  Now 
this  lady,  whose  slender  talent  as  an  actress  I 
have  had  the  honor  of  supporting,  thinks  she  has 
some  cogent  claim  to  the  unearned  increment 
of  the  deceased  Dutchman.  Her  idea  is  probably 
fantastic  —  most  of  our  ideas  about  *  rights ' 
are  —  but  it  is  a  fixed  idea  with  her  !"  He  leaned 
forward  and  waved  his  cigar  rhythmically  to 
drive  home  his  words.  "Unless  her  idea  is  ade 
quately  gratified,  I  am  afraid  she  will  be  unhappy 
and  make  you  considerable  trouble  in  the  course 
of  her  effort  to  satisfy  her  quite  unreasonable 
desire.  Voila  tout,  as  the  French  say.  Or  if 
you  prefer  English,  Better  pay  and  forget,  rather 
than  save  a  few  dollars  and  regret,  my  friend." 

"You  are  a  good  anarchist,"  Farson  observed. 

"Thank  you  for  the  explanation.  I  know  that 
I  am  a  practical  man.  If  our  rich,  our  very  rich 
citizens,  would  only  recognize  more  frankly  the 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  327 

truth  I  have  been  stating,  they  would  be  happier 
and  so  would  we  others.  But  they  are  very  timid 
and  conservative;  they  rarely  get  beyond  li 
braries,  museums,  and  hospitals.  All  dull  and 
comparatively  useless  affairs  !" 

The  fight-trust  man  sank  back  into  his  chair 
and  smoked  with  half-closed  eyes. 

"Your  talk  is  interesting,  Hollinger,  as  always," 
Brainard  remarked,  "but  unfortunately  this  time 
I  can't  follow  your  advice." 

"And  why  not?" 

"Because  it  happens  not  to  be  my  own  money 
that  Miss  Walters  desires." 

Hollinger  waved  one  hand  deprecatingly  and 
murmured : 

"A  mere  matter  of  words  that." 

"No,  I  mean  it !  As  I  have  been  explaining 
to  Miss  Walters,  I  am  really  a  poor  man  — " 

"Poverty  is  a  relative  matter  —  science  has 
demonstrated  that." 

"Everything  of  Krutzmacht's  I  hold  as  trustee." 

"Sounds  like  Carnegie,  or  was  it  the  Emperor 
William  ?  .  .  .  Pardon  me,  that  is  another  for 
mula.  We  are  all  trustees,  of  course." 

Brainard  paused  and  then  resumed  in  a  different 
tone: 

"I  have  been  over  this  matter  with  Miss  Walters 
and  explained  my  position.  I  think  she  under- 


328  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

stands  it  quite  well.  If  she  can  produce  proof 
that  she  was  legally  married  to  the  late  Herbert 
Xrutzmacht  - 

"You  would  not  be  as  crude  as  that !"  Hollin- 
ger  exclaimed,  opening  his  eyes.  "You  know  as 
well  as  the  next  man  how  purely  accidental  mar 
riage  is  —  the  ceremony  I  mean.  The  law  fastens 
on  that  of  course  —  it  has  to  have  some  nail  to 
cling  to  - 

"As  I  told  Miss  Walters,  the  trouble  with  her, 
and  I  am  afraid  with  you,  too,  Hollinger,  is  that 
you  can't  comprehend  an  honest  man.  I  happen 
to  be  a  mere  honest  man." 

"Pray,  don't  believe  I  doubted  it." 

"Just  plain,  old-fashioned,  vulgar  honest," 
Brainard  continued  irascibly.  "Neither  of  you 
seem  to  understand  that  simple  fact.  You  pro 
ceed  on  two  false  assumptions,  —  first  that  I 
am  a  crook  and  second  that  I  am  a  coward  - 
I  might  add  a  third,  that  I  am  a  fool.  So  long 
as  these  false  assumptions  remain  embedded 
in  your  mind,  we  simply  can't  do  business 
together." 

He  walked  suggestively  towards  the  door. 
Hollinger  also  rose,  a  little  wearily,  a  bored  look 
on  his  face,  and  chucked  his  cigar  into  the  fire 
place. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  gently,   "that  we,  have 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  329 

succeeded  in  straining  your  sense  of  humor.  .  .  . 
The  trouble  with  you  virtuous  people  is  that  you 
bristle  so  easily  at  the  least  touch.  I  should 
think  that  Virtue  would  be  more  self-satisfying 
to  its  practitioners.  Now  I  don't  bristle  because 
you  assume  that  I  am  a  petty  blackmailer  and 
am  trying  to  get  money  for  Miss  Walters  in  order 
to  share  with  her.  That's  what  you  think  — 
confess  it !" 

"It  looks  that  way,"  Brainard  said. 

"If  it  does,  it  doesn't  worry  me  in  the  least. 
I  don't  waste  our  time  trying  to  prove  to  you  that 
I  -am  Honest  and  Disinterested,  that  I  came  here 
to-night  really  out  of  friendly  interest  in  you  — 
to  try  with  the  aid  of  my  equable  temperament 
and  clear  intelligence  to  avoid  the  mistakes  that 
are  likely  to  occur  when  excessive  desire  meets 
excessive  virtue.  But  I  have  failed.  You  two 
will  have  to  make  up  your  accounts  alone  —  or 
with  the  vulgar  assistance  of  the  courts.  Good 
luck  to  you.  And  good  night !" 

He  extended  one  hand  to  Brainard  and  the 
other  to  Far  son. 

"I  will  give  myself  the  pleasure  of  setting  you 

down  at  your  hotel,"  he  said  to  the  actress,  who 

was  slowly  and  somewhat  regretfully  buttoning 

her  fur  coat. 

.  When  Farson  and  the  actress  had  left  the  room, 


330  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Brainard  detained  Hollinger  and  said  con 
tritely  : 

"I'm  afraid  I  did  suspect  you  of  collusion  with 
Miss  Walters  —  I'm  sorry,  for  I  have  always 
liked  you." 

"It's  very  natural.  You  yourself  must  know 
how  hard  it  is  in  this  world  to  be  really  disinter 
ested  without  incurring  unjust  suspicions.  How 
ever,  that's  nothing  !" 

"The  trouble  is  I  can't  understand  you  — 
never  did  !" 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  return  the  compliment. 
I  flatter  myself  that  I  understand  you  thoroughly." 

"Do  you  remember  that  first  time  I  met  you 
—  on  the  train,  the  Overland  Limited,  going  to 
California  ?  You  were  in  your  compartment  read 
ing  Paradise  Lost  with  the  help  of  a  dictionary." 

The  fight-trust  man  blushed  slightly,  probably 
at  the  mention  of  the  dictionary. 

"You  mean  the  occasion  when  that  active 
young  seeker  for  notoriety,  the  special  district 
attorney  of  San  Francisco,  was  trying  to  put  me 
in  state's  prison  ?" 

"You  were  under  bonds  then,  seventy-five 
thousand  dollars  of  bonds.  I  remember  how  awed 
I  was  at  the  size  of  your  bonds  !" 

"Yes,  I  recall  the  occasion  now,"  the  prize 
ring  magnate  said  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "I 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  331 

didn't  remember  that  was  our  first  meeting  - 
I  meet  so  many  people  everywhere  —  nor  that 
I  happened  to  be  making  the  acquaintance  also 
of  the  famous  puritan  poet.  .  .  .  The  trouble 
with  you,  my  friend,  if  you  will  permit  me  to 
indulge  in  a  last  bit  of  advice,  is  that  you  are  so 
terribly  conventional  in  your  judgments  of  char 
acter,  in  your  expectations  of  what  people  are 
to  be.  That  is  a  very  common  limitation.  You 
expected  to  find  in  me  a  bloody  and  brutal  bounder, 
smelling  of  whisky  and  dazzling  with  diamonds. 
Instead  you  found  an  intelligent  gentleman,  in 
terested  in  literature  and  life.  The  prize  ring, 
Mr.  Brainard,  is  as  much  an  arena  of  Art  in  its  way 
as  the  popular  theater  to  which  you  are  devoting 
so  much  effort  and  such  large  sums  of  money. 
And  I  was  engaged  in  it  as  a  business,  as  I  am 
now  engaged  in  the  theatrical  business.  A  finan 
cier,  even  of  the  prize  ring,  is  not  obliged  to  dirty 
himself  with  vulgar  contacts.  That  explains 
the  lofty  idealism  of  some  of  our  most  prominent 
citizens.  You  plan  and  dream  from  above  — 
the  degrading  associations  are  left  to  others,  as 
doubtless  you  have  already  learned  in  the  manage 
ment  of  your  own  properties.  .  .  .  Well,  I 
must  not  keep  Miss  Walters  waiting  below.  Good 
night,  my  foolish  Idealist !  Good  luck  and  more 
wisdom  to  you  before  our  next  meeting." 


332  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

They  descended  to  the  hall  which  they  found 
empty.  Parson  was  getting  the  actress  a  last 
cigarette.  As  they  waited,  Hollinger  observed 
musingly : 

"You  doubtless  know  about  the  marriage  laws 
in  California  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't." 

"They  are  extremely,  —  what  shall  I  say? 
Lax  —  liberal.  You  see  our  people  out  there  are 
so  unconventional  and  accidental  in  their  habit 
of  life,  that  the  courts  are  forced  to  take  the  most 
liberal  view  of  these  personal  matters.  And  we 
are  as  a  people  chivalrous  towards  women  — 
much  more  so  than  you  are  here.  So  the  courts 
are  inclined  to  decide  the  question  of  marriage 
largely  on  whether  the  woman  ought  to  have 
been  married,  rather  than  on  the  mere  fact  of  the 
ceremony.  That  accounts  for  the  large  number 
of  posthumous  wives  and  their  claims  that  turn 
up  after  the  death  of  a  rich  man  on  the  Coast." 

"Am  I  to  regard  this  as  a  threat?"  Brainard 
inquired. 

"Bless  you,  my  dear  boy,  don't  be  so  sensitive  ! 
Advice,  just  impertinent,  uncalled-for  advice,  which 
I  am  so  fond  of  giving.  I  should  have  left  all 
that  to  Miss  Lorilla's  lawyers  —  they  are  the 
proper  persons  to  expound  the  California  stat 
utes." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  333 

"You  don't  believe  for  one  instant  that  Miss 
Walters  was  really  married  to  old  Krutzmacht  ? " 

Hollinger  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Quien  sabe  ?  as  the  Mexicans  say.  I  have  no 
doubt  she  ought  to  have  been." 

"That  is  a  very  different  matter." 

Hollinger  again  shrugged  his  shoulders.  In 
the  pause  that  followed,  Hollinger  began  to  muse 
aloud  softly,  as  if  he  were  presenting  a  case  to 
himself : 

"Her  life  has  been  typical.  Born  on  a  dreary 
little  ranch,  educated  for  a  few  years  in  one  of 
our  national  institutions  for  the  stultifying  of 
youth,  then  deserted  by  her  worthless  father 
and  forced  to  do  something  for  herself  and  her 
useless  mother,  —  what  is  the  answer  to  that  ? 
Chorus  girl.  Twelve  dollars  a  week  and  mother 
to  support  as  well  as  herself  and  no  special  talent 
or  exceptional  looks,  —  what  is  the  answer  to 
that  ?  Man." 

"Whom  the  girl  in  her  gratitude  tried  to  sell 
out  when  he  was  in  a  tight  place.  No,  I  am  afraid 
you  can't  make  out  a  very  good  case  for  charity  !" 

"Just  what  had  Krutzmacht  done  for  her  ?  .  .  . 
Changed  her  job  from  a  dubiously  respectable 
one  to  an  undoubtedly  disreputable  one  —  and 
made  her  work  in  his  office  besides.  No,  the 
balance  is  on  her  side  of  the  ledger.  .  .  .  Now 


334  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

she  has  matured,  —  oh,  very  much  matured ;  has 
no  protector,  and  mother  still  to  support  as  well 
as  herself,  —  what  is  the  answer  to  that?" 

"If  you  put  your  claim  on  the  ground  of  social 
service,  pure  and  simple,"  Brainard  replied,  "it 
might  be  considered,  I  suppose.  But  I  don't 
think  Miss  Walters  would  accept  charity." 

"Charity  —  justice  —  prudence  ?  What's  the 
use  of  finding  the  right  name  ?  In  the  last  analy 
sis  they  are  all  meaningless." 

"You  forget  they  mean  something  to  me." 

"She  hungers  for  some  of  life's  goodies."  Hoi- 
linger  resumed  his  musing,  ignoring  Brainard's 
reply.  "But  comparatively  little  would  satisfy 
her  —  a  secure  home  somewhere  in  southern  Cali 
fornia  for  herself  and  that  tough  relic  of  a  parent, 
a  little  income,  enough  to  assure  permanent  idle 
ness.  Consider  what  a  boon  that  would  be  to  the 
stage  in  itself !  Possibly  matrimony  later  on, 
why  not  ?  .  .  .  As  Krutzmacht's  residuary  —  er, 
trustee,  —  that's  what  you  called  it,  I  believe, 
you  ought  to  provide  decently  for  his  emotional 
lapses.  ...  I  put  it  to  you  now  as  a  Sentimen 
talist,  Idealist,  Lover  of  Great  Ideas." 

"  You  would  talk  me  into  giving  her  every 
thing  I  have,"  Brainard  laughed,  "if  I  could 
only  once  bring  myself  to  accept  your  point  of 


view." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  335 

"And  that  is?" 

"That  life  is  merely  a  juggle  of  words." 

"Ah,  you  are  too  young.  One  cannot  fight 
successfully  against  youth,  even  with  ideas  !" 

Miss  Walters  appeared,  followed  by  Farson, 
and  the  conversation  was  at  an  end.  The  actress 
looked  at  Brainard  from  beneath  her  flaring  hat, 
and  her  eyes  had  an  unpleasant  luster  in  them. 
No,  mere  charity  would  not  satisfy  that  "thirst 
for  vengeance  upon  life  !" 

"Well,  Mr.  Wilkins,"  she  began  with  a  heavy 
effort  at  irony,  "it  is  always  sad  for  old  friends  to 
part.  But  in  this  case  we  may  hope  to  meet  again 
before  long." 

"I  hope  so!"  Brainard  replied  politely.  "Let 
me  put  you  into  the  cab." 

Hollinger  followed  them  slowly  down  the  steps. 
At  the  very  door  of  the  cab  he  lingered. 

"In  that  brief  visit  which  you  made  to  the 
Coast  did  you  ever  come  across  a  rattler  in  opera 
tion  ?  No !  It  makes  a  slight,  but  perfectly 
clear  noise  first  by  way  of  warning  —  and  then  it 
strikes !  Some  women  resemble  the  rattler. 
Look  out  for  the  sting  ! " 

"Thanks  !     I  shall." 

"Oh!"  the  prize  ring  magnate  sighed  in  fare 
well,  "my  poor  Idealist,  what  a  lot  of  useless 
trouble  you  make  for  yourself  and  others  ! " 


XII 

BRAINARD  carefully  put  out  all  the  lights  on 
the  lower  floor  and  then  mounted  the  stairs  to 
the  room  above.  There  he  found  Farson  smoking 
a  cigarette  before  the  open  fire  and  staring  straight 
before  him,  as  if  his  mind  was  occupied  with  a 
novel  set  of  ideas.  At  sight  of  Brainard  a  curi 
ous  smile  crossed  his  face,  and  he  looked  interrog 
atively  at  his  employer. 

"Well?  "he  murmured. 

"They  are  a  pretty  pair  of  —  I  was  going  to 
say  crooks.  But  I  don't  think  my  friend  Hollin- 
ger  is  exactly  that  —  I  hope  not." 

"He  used  to  have  the  reputation  of  being  the 
squarest  man  in  his  profession  —  the  very  soul 
of  honor  in  the  fight  business.  That  was  what 
gave  him  his  prestige  with  the  politicians,  until 
the  district  attorney  got  after  him." 

"I  can't  make  him  out !" 

"It's  not  hard  to  make  her  out,"  Farson  com 
mented. 

"Her  methods  are  only  too  obvious  !" 

"Did  I  ever  tell  you  just  what  happened  that 
336 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  337 

evening  in  San  Francisco  after  I  saw  you  off  on 
the  ferry  with  your  bag  ?" 

"The  last  I  saw  of  you/'  Brainard  replied,  "y°u 
were  on  the  run  to  the  telephone  booth  to  get  your 
beat  about  me  and  Krutzmacht  to  your  paper  !" 

"Well,  after  I  'phoned  the  story  I  streaked  it 
back  to  Krutzmacht's  office.  I  fancied  there 
might  be  something  doing  there  after  the  woman 
got  loose  from  the  safe.  There  was  !  She  had 
the  marshal's  office  and  the  police  department 
- 1  don't  know  but  the  fire  brigade  too  —  all 
up  there  buzzing,  and  she  was  trying  to  raise 
Crane,  —  you  know  the  big  railroad  gun  on  the 
other  side  ?  She'd  kept  that  telephone  working 
ever  since  Peters  threw  the  combination.  If 
you  had  seen  the  temper  she  was  in,  you  might 
have  left  her  in  that  safe  somewhat  longer  to  cool 
off.  .  .  .  She  seems  to  have  quieted  down  a 
good  deal.  But  I  could  see  signs  of  her  old  temper 
this  evening.  I  don't  believe  adversity  has  im 
proved  it  materially." 

"Probably  not!"  Brainard  remarked,  yawning 
and  looking  at  his  watch.  "Three  o'clock ! 
Our  friends  made  the  time  pass  quickly." 

Farson  did  not  move  from  his  position  before 
the  dying  fire.  The  late  hour  made  no  impres 
sion  upon  him,  and  Brainard  did  not  seem  anxious 
to  get  to  bed. 


338  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  the  young  man 
asked. 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing!"  Farson  exclaimed  in  surprise. 
"You  don't  mean  to  say - 

"I  will  let  Lorilla  make  the  next  move  —  it's 
up  to  her." 

"You  won't  take  Hollinger's  hint  ?" 

"Buy  her  off?  It  would  take  too  much,  if 
we  began  that  game.  Besides,  why  should  I?" 

The  young  man  was  evidently  puzzled. 

"The  only  thing  she  can  do,"  Brainard  ex 
plained,  "is  to  produce  a  wife  or  heirs  to  Krutz- 
macht.  I  don't  believe  she  can  do  that  success 
fully.  If  she  does,  I  am  quite  ready  to  resign 
without  a  fight.  But,"  he  repeated  musingly,  "I 
don't  believe  she  can  prove  that  she  was  his  wife." 

"There  would  be  harder  things  to  prove,"  the 
secretary  ventured,  "especially  in  a  California 
court!" 

Brainard  smiled.  He  knew  that  Farson  thought 
him  a  fool  to  run  the  risk  of  a  law  suit  and  possibly 
failure  in  exposing  fraudulent  claims  to  the  prop 
erty  that  he  held  on  such  slight  legal  authority. 

"I  believe  I  never  told  you  the  whole  story," 
he  said.  "You  probably  think,  if  you  think  about 
it  at  all  —  just  as  Hollinger  thinks  —  that  I  am 
a  lucky  and  none-too-scrupulous  adventurer, 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  339 

who  had  a  fortune  dropped  into  his  hands  by  a 
peculiar  accident  and  have  enjoyed  its  possession 
undisturbed  by  any  claimants  up  to  this  moment. 
But  it  isn't  quite  like  that.  And  there's  rather 
more  drama  in  the  true  story  of  Krutzmacht's 
fortune  than  anything  we  have  yet  offered  at  the 
People's  Theater!" 

He  took  another  cigar,  remade  the  fire,  and  told 
Farson  all  the  details  of  his  hunt  for  the  vague 
Melody  ever  since  he  had  first  found  positive 
indications  of  her  existence  in  the  deserted  house 
above  Monument. 

"Latterly,"  he  concluded,  "Melody  has  grown 
somewhat  dim  in  my  mind.  Perhaps  the  theater 
has  taken  her  place  as  reality  and  as  mistress; 
for  I  have  always  thought  of  myself  as  doing  it 
with  her  money  !  But  to-night  when  that  woman 
turned  up  here  with  her  vulgar,  brazen  air  and 
tried  to  hold  me  up  in  a  blackmailing  way,  some 
thing  made  me  feel  that  Melody  is  still  alive,  in 
spite  of  all  the  chances  that  she  isn't,  and  that 
she  will  turn  up  in  time  to  get  her  own." 

"She  will  have  to  appear  soon!"  Farson  ex 
claimed. 

"I  felt  in  talking  to  Lojilla  that  she  was  per 
fectly  conscious  she  has  no  legal  right  to  the 
money  —  knew  all  along  that  Krutzmacht  was 
married  and  had  an  heir  or  had  made  a  will  — " 


340  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Did  you  ever  get  hold  of  that  trunk,  the  one 
I  checked  for  you  to  Chicago  when  you  were 
telephoning  Krutzmacht's  office  to  inquire  about 
Lorilla's  health?" 

"It  had  disappeared  before  I  was  able  to  claim 
it.  I  suppose  it  went  in  the  unclaimed  baggage 
sale." 

"Never  —  it  was  too  soon.     She's  got  it!" 

"I  don't  believe  there  was  anything  in  it  except 
some  ledgers  and  letter  files  that  might  interest 
the  railroad  people." 

"A  will?" 

"Perhaps.  But  I  doubt  it.  She  would  have 
used  it  before  this!" 

The  secretary  seemed  more  concerned  over 
the  situation  than  did  Brainard.  The  latter 
said  musingly  as  he  dropped  his  cigar  into  the 
ashes : 

"Of  course,  if  there  is  no  Melody,  or  if  I  can't 
find  her,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  that 
woman  might  as  well  have  the  money  as  anybody 
else.  At  least,  a  reasonable  amount.  Krutz- 
macht  probably  owed  her  liberal  compensation. 
.  .  .  But  I  shan't  give  up  my  belief  in  Melody 
until  the  courts  compel  me  to  !" 

"You  don't  mean  that  you  would  let  that 
Walters  woman  have  the  money?"  the  younger 
man  demanded  in  astonishment. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  341 

"Farson,  you  don't  understand.  I  suppose 
it  seems  absurd  to  you  —  it  does  to  me  at  times. 
But  I  have  never  for  one  moment  considered 
myself  the  owner  of  Krutzmacht's  millions  — 
never  !  I  suppose  that  has  given  me  my  freedom 
of  action,  my  feeling  that  I  could  do  things  like 
this  theater,  —  not  for  myself.  In  my  own  mind 
I  was  always  acting  for  'some  one  else.  It 
may  be  all  imagination,  but  if  it  is,  Melody  just 
as  an  idea  has  helped  me  tremendously,  —  to 
keep  my  hands  clear,  not  to  be  corrupted  by  the 
large  sums  of  money  at  my  disposal,  —  to  make 
a  man  of  me  !  It's  a  mighty  helpful  thing  to 
be  in  the  position  of  trustee  to  some  unknown 
person.  It  might  solve  some  of  our  hardest 
economic  problems  if  more  of  our  wealth  was 
held  on  the  same  terms.  I  can't  explain  it  all, 
but  it  makes  you  free  really  not  to  have  a  cent  of 
your  own  !" 

Farson  murmured  something  that  sounded  like 
the  term  which  Hollinger  had  twice  used,  by  way 
of  contempt,  in  describing  Brainard. 

"No,  I  can't  understand  !"  he  sighed. 

"Well,  you'd  better  get  to  bed,"  Brainard 
laughed.  "There's  nothing  to  worry  about. 
That's  one  happy  result  of  my  attitude.  If  it  will 
make  you  feel  any  more  sure  of  my  sanity,  I  will 
see  my  lawyers  in  the  morning.  They  are  not 


342  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

likely  to  take  sentimental  views,  I  can  tell  you. 
I  have  been  too  profitable  a  client !" 

After  Farson  had  taken  the  hint  and  removed 
his  bewildered  person  from  the  room,  Brainard 
sat  for  another  hour  before  the  dead  fire,  in  a 
sleepless  revery.  The  unexpected  visit  of  the 
stenographer  and  the  fight-trust  man  had  brought 
back  vividly  a  long  train  of  memories  of  what 
had  constituted  his  active  life  for  the  last  four 
years.  The  situation  that  had  developed 
had  again  emphasized  the  dream  quality  of  all 
living.  It  is  the  conventionally  expected  in 
life  that  makes  what  men  ordinarily  term  reality. 
A  slight  turn  from  the  ordinary  course  of  events 
produces  a  sense  of  unreality.  For  four  years 
there  had  come  to  Brainard,  turn  after  turn,  utterly 
unexpected  and  unforeseen,  each  one  producing 
this  sense  of  the  essential  unreality  of  life.  But 
behind  it  all  had  grown  the  living  reality  of  his 
own  will  and  character  that  had  been  formed 
by  meeting  and  dealing  with  the  exigencies  of 
each  situation  fairly  according  to  the  laws  of  his 
nature. 

As  he  had  said  to  his  secretary,  the  result  was 
that  he  found  himself  now  ready  to  abandon  his 
adventurous  position  upon  demand  without  a 
sense  of  overwhelming  loss  and  disaster.  He  had 
no  more  feeling  of  enmity  or  of  contempt  for 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  343 

Lorilla  Walters  than  Hollinger  evinced.  She  was 
playing  her  little  part  in  the  complex  scheme  of 
destiny,  playing  it  vulgarly  and  crudely,  and 
he  suspected  improperly.  But  what  occupied 
his  thoughts  at  this  crisis,  much  more  than  the 
possible  machinations  the  actress  might  be  able 
to  set  on  foot  against  him  or  the  instability  of 
his  own  fortunes,  was  the  woman's  situation. 
What  Hollinger  had  said  for  her  in  plea  of  extenua 
tion  had  touched  him  more  deeply  than  he  had 
let  the  fight- trust  man  see.  It  was  perfectly  true 
that  she  should  be  provided  for  out  of  Krutz- 
macht's  loot  in  life.  He  tried  to  think  how  this 
could  be  brought  about  without  compromising 
himself  or  his  elusive  mistress's  rights.  He  re 
solved  on  the  morrow  to  see  not  only  his  lawyers 
but  Hollinger  also,  and  contrive  some  plan  by 
which  the  ex-stenographer  could  obtain  justice 
without  gratifying  her  spite. 

"But  she  is  not  the  old  man's  heir  —  of  that  I 
am  sure  !"  he  said  to  himself  as  at  last  he  sought 
his  bed.  "And  Melody  lives  —  I  stick  to  that ! 
The  dream  will  hold  to  the  end,  not  go  to  pieces 
in  any  vulgar  fashion  like  this  !" 


XIII 

THE  perfectly  correct  New  York  lawyers  to 
whom  Brainard  told  his  tale  later  that  morning 
evinced  no  surprise.  There  was  nothing  in  the 
heart  or  brain  of  man,  they  seemed  to  say,  that 
could  flutter  a  New  York  lawyer.  "It  would 
be  advisable  to  find  Miss  Melody  straightway," 
they  felt,  and  inquired  what  sort  of  title  Brainard 
held  to  the  Arizona  mine.  When  he  confessed 
that  it  was  only  a  tax  title,  they  remarked  that 
under  the  Arizona  laws  any  heirs  of  the  dead 
German  had  a  year  more  in  which  to  redeem  the 
property.  That  did  not  trouble  Brainard.  The 
lawyers  very  strongly  urged  their  client  not  to 
make  advances  to  Miss  Walters  or  to  her  friend 
and  manager  on  her  behalf.  That  would  be 
suicidal,  they  averred,  opening  the  way  at  once 
to  endless  blackmail  and  even  criminal  prosecu 
tion.  "Let  the  matter  rest  until  the  interested 
parties  make  some  move,"  they  advised,  in  a  per 
fectly  cautious  and  obvious  way. 

"I've  done  my  best  to  find  the  heirs,  as  you 
people  very  well  know.  I'm  convinced  there's 
only  one,  and  I'm  not  sure  that  she  has  any  legal 

344 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  345 

claim.  But  hers  was  the  only  name  the  old  man 
mentioned  the  one  time  I  saw  him." 

"You  certainly  made  a  mistake  in  not  getting 
hold  of  that  trunk!" 

"After  my  settlement  in  Paris  with  the  bank 
ers,"  Brainard  explained,  "I  felt  that  it  was  of  the 
first  importance  to  go  to  Monument  as  soon  as 
possible;  and  by  the  time  I  turned  up  at  the 
Chicago  railroad  station,  the  trunk  had  dis 
appeared." 

"If  no  heir  can  be  found,  there  is  not  much 
danger  of  trouble;  but  if  they  should  happen  to 
get  hold  of  this  girl  you  call  Melody,  it  might  be 
awkward." 

"I  should  be  only  too  glad  if  She  could  be 
found,  by  them  or  any  one  else ! "  Brainard  ex 
claimed  with  sincerity.  "I  could  then  wash  my 
hands  of  the  whole  matter." 

The  lawyer  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly, 
then  resumed : 

"Assuming  that  no  heir  of  the  old  man  is  forth 
coming,  the  only  harm  that  these  persons  could 
do  you  would  be  to  stir  up  the  attorney-general 
to  take  action  to  recover  the  lands  for  the  Terri 
tory.  They  would  have  to  move  quickly  to  get 
their  action  before  the  courts,  and  the  proper 
representations  at  Washington  would  discourage 
any  such  litigation." 


346  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"That  doesn't  worry  me.  But  that  woman! 
She's  perfectly  capable  of  becoming  Krutzmacht's 
widow  and  providing  a  whole  brood  of  children." 

"You  mean  fraudulent?" 

"Or  left-handed,"  Brainard  suggested.  "I  be 
lieve  she's  training  them  now  ! " 

"We  shall  have  to  wait  until  she  produces 
them  in  court,  then,"  his  counsel  remarked  with 
a  grin. 

As  the  weeks  and  then  the  months  slipped  by 
without  any  sign  from  Krutzmacht's  former 
stenographer  Brainard  almost  forgot  the  mid 
night  visit  that  she  and  the  fight-trust  magnate 
had  made  and  the  disturbing  conversation  which 
had  taken  place.  During  this  summer  the  Peo 
ple's  Company  played  a  short  season  in  Chicago, 
and  were  so  cordially  received  in  that  city,  which 
seemed  to  be  more  open-minded  in  theatrical 
matters  than  New  York,  that  Brainard  felt  he 
had  made  a  mistake  in  not  starting  his  dramatic 
enterprise  in  this  thoroughly  American  community. 
An  opportunity  offering  of  securing  the  lease  of 
a  new  theater  in  Chicago,  Brainard  decided  to 
take  it  and  support  a  second  company  in  the  West 
to  interchange  with  the  parent  company.  He 
placed  MacNaughton  in  charge  of  the  new  com 
pany,  having  found  a  younger  and  more  adaptable 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  347 

man  to  work  with  him  in  New  York.  All  these 
arrangements  took  much  time  and  thought  and 
involved  many  trips  between  the  two  cities  to 
complete  the  negotiations.  Brainard  had  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  if  they  had  failed 
in  their  first  season  to  make  the  impression  he 
had  hoped,  at  least  they  had  shown  courage  and 
determination.  The  Idea  was  far  from  dead,  — 
was  growing  slowly  and  adapting  itself,  as  all 
large  Ideas  must,  to  the  environment  and  the 
conditions.  .  .  . 

One  morning,  the  day  after  his  return  from  one 
of  these  hurried  journeys  to  Chicago,  Brainard 
found  Farson  immersed  as  usual  in  the  folds  of 
a  newspaper  over  his  coffee.  Instead  of  the  cus 
tomary  greeting,  the  secretary  handed  over  the 
paper  with  the  simple  remark : 

"She's  struck!" 

A  front  page  story  of  the  usual  type,  emanating 
from  the  Pacific  Coast,  related  that  a  woman 
claiming  to  be  Krutzmacht's  lawful  widow,  mar 
ried  to  him  several  years  before  in  a  small  southern 
California  town,  was  about  to  institute  legal  pro 
ceedings  to  recover  the  remnants  of  the  dead 
promoter's  scattered  fortune.  At  the  time  of 
Krutzmacht's  death,  so  the  story  ran,  it  was 
supposed  that  his  large  fortune  had  been  com 
pletely  swallowed  up  in  his  unsuccessful  enter- 


348  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

prises,  but  recently  through  a  series  of  extraordi 
nary  events  a  very  considerable  amount  of  un 
suspected  assets  had  been  discovered,  to  which 
the  widow  now  laid  claim.  Eminent  counsel  had 
been  retained  in  the  case,  and  sensational  develop 
ments  were  promised,  involving  a  capitalist  well 
known  in  New  York  and  Arizona. 

As  Brainard  having  finished  the  story  laid  the 
newspaper  down  with  a  slight  smile,  Parson 
observed : 

"So  it's  on!" 

"Apparently.  ...  It  took  her  some  time  to 
get  into  action.  I  suppose  she  was  collecting  her 
properties." 

"She'll  produce  a  son  in  court  lisping  'Pap 
Krutz, '"  the  secretary  growled.  He  could  not 
forgive  Brainard  for  what  he  called  his  "weak" 
manner  of  handling  the  affair. 

"Now  we  shall  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
what  sort  of  story  she  can  put  up,"  Brainard  re 
marked,  proceeding  unconcernedly  with  his  break 
fast.  "Perhaps  this  action,  through  the  notoriety 
it  will  give  to  Krutzmacht's  affairs,  will  serve 
to  produce  the  real  heir,"  he  added  hopefully. 

But  after  a  visit  to  his  lawyers  Brainard  was 
less  optimistic.  They  pointed  out  to  him  that 
undoubtedly  the  first  legal  move  would  be  to  tie 
up  the  great  Melody  mine  by  an  injunction. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  349 

Whether  the  so-called  widow  could  prove  her 
marriage  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  court  or  not, 
the  mine  must  remain  idle.  And  the  case  might 
drag  on  for  a  couple  of  years  or  more,  depending 
upon  the  resources  the  widow  could  command. 
During  all  this  time  there  would  be  no  income 
from  the  property ;  instead  it  would  greatly  de 
teriorate.  The  lawyers'  prediction  was  quickly 
fulfilled.  Brainard  found  himself  without  the 
large  monthly  income  from  the  flow  of  the  sulfur 
wells,  with  an  expensive  law  suit  on  his  hands, 
and  two  greedy  theatrical  companies  to  be  pro 
vided  for. 

"As  Hollinger  warned  me,  Lorilla  is  a  Rattler," 
Brainard  said  to  the  secretary  when  the  two  went 
over  the  situation.  "It  looks  very  much,  my 
boy,  as  if  this  law  suit  would  be  the  final  curtain 
for  the  great  Idea.  I'm  tied  up  short.  The 
Chicago  theater  has  taken  a  lump  of  money.  I 
don't  believe  I  could  lay  my  hands  on  fifty  thou 
sand  dollars  cash,  all  told." 

"I  wonder  where  she  is  getting  her  money  to 
fight  the  case,"  Farson  said. 

"Perhaps  Hollinger  is  putting  it  up  —  as  a 
promising  speculation  !" 

"You  don't  think  he  would  do  that  ?" 

"Why  not?  It  goes  with  his  philosophy. 
He  gave  me  my  chance  to  compromise — " 


350  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"If  you'd  only  taken  it !" 

"And  when  he  saw  that  I  wouldn't  compromise, 
he  might  decide  to  play  on  the  other  side.  It 
makes  little  difference,  anyway.  If  Miss  Walters 
has  any  sort  of  claim,  she  can  easily  get  all  the 
money  she  needs.  There  are  always  'eminent 
counsel'  ready  to  take  that  kind  of  case  on  a 
good  contingent  fee." 

"Well,  what  will  you  do  now?"  Farson  asked 
in  a  depressed  tone. 

"First  I  must  get  rid  of  the  lease  of  the  Chicago 
theater." 

"It's  too  bad  —  the  Chicago  theater  opened 
well.  Mac  thinks  it  will  almost  make  ex 
penses." 

"What  Mac  thinks  and  what  the  public  thinks 
we  have  found  to  be  two  different  propositions," 
Brainard  replied.  "I  don't  believe  Chicago  will 
miss  us  much.  But  I  hate  to  close  the  New  York 
theater." 

"Will  you  have  to  do  that  ?" 

"You  know  the  figures  —  they  don't  improve  !" 

"I  suppose  that  dishes  my  play." 

Farson  had  been  hard  at  work  during  the 
summer  on  a  play  of  American  life,  based  largely 
on  material  that  Louisiana  Delacourt  had  con 
tributed  in  a  series  of  amusing  confidences  about 
her  own  experiences,  before  her  departure  to  com- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  351 

plete  her  education  in  Europe.  It  was  to  be 
called  Her  Great  Adventure,  and  had  been  coming 
on  very  fast  latterly.  The  plan  between  the 
two  friends  had  been  to  try  it  out  toward  the 
close  of  the  present  season,  and,  if  the  play  proved 
successful,  to  open  with  it  in  the  fall. 

"I  hadn't  thought  about  your  play,"  Brainard 
exclaimed  sympathetically.  "We  must  keep  the 
house  open  until  we  can  produce  Her  Great  Ad 
venture.  There's  money  enough  in  the  bank 
for  that."  He  patted  his  secretary  affectionately 
on  the  back.  "But  finish  it,  my  boy,  as  soon  as 
you  can.  That  place  eats  money,  and  when  the 
news  leaks  we  shan't  be  able  to  keep  our  company 
together  long.  Can  you  be  ready  by  the  first  of 
March?" 

"It  will  have  to  be  ready !  It's  awfully  good 
of  you,  Brainard;  and  the  play  might  possibly 
make  money,  you  know." 

"If  that  happens,  it  will  break  all  records  for 
the  People's.  We  will  give  it  every  chance,  any 
way.  How  shall  we  cast  it  ?  Will  Clara  Dudley 
do  for  the  girl  ?" 

Forgetting  all  about  Krutzmacht's  new  widow 
and  their  financial  predicament  they  began  to  dis 
cuss  the  cast  for  Her  Great  Adventure.  The 
leading  character  was  a  young  woman  who  had 
come  fearlessly  and  pennilessly  out  of  the  great 


352  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

West,  to  find  a  career  in  New  York.  Brainard 
remarked  suddenly : 

"The  woman  to  play  that  part  is  Louisiana  her 
self."  Farson,  for  some  reason,  did  not  welcome 
the  suggestion  strongly.  He  preferred  to  take  his 
chances  with  a  more  experienced  actress.  "Where 
is  Louisiana,  by  the  way  ?  You  haven't  given  me 
any  news  of  her  for  some  time,"  Brainard  asked. 

Farson  blushed  slightly  as  he  replied : 

"She's  in  London  just  now  —  having  a  great 
time,  I  judge  from  the  number  of  dashes  and  ex 
clamations  scattered  over  her  letters.  Character 
istic  style,  you  know.  She  hasn't  taken  down 
much  of  the  original  bunting  she  carried." 

"She  wouldn't!"  Brainard  exclaimed  with  a 
laugh.  "Louisiana  is  a  genius.  Don't  tell  her 
what's  going  to  happen  over  here.  Let  her  have 
her  little  dance  out  as  long  as  it  is  possible.  Her 
hard  times,  poor  child,  will  begin  soon  enough  !" 

"She  writes  that  Cissie  Pyce  is  over  there. 
Remember  Cissie  —  our  first  experiment  as  emo 
tional  lady?" 

"She  wept  all  over  this  carpet  when  I  fired  her 
—  do  I  remember  ?" 

"Louisiana  says  that  Cissie  has  been  taken  up 
by  Bantam,  and  is  coming  back  to  the  States  to 
play  in  The  Star  of  the  Seven  Seas.'9 

"We'll  make  somebody's  fortune  yet,"  Brainard 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  353 

commented,  "by  discharging  'em,  if  in  no  other 
way.  But  Louisiana  was  really  our  first  and  only 
find  —  the  one  personality  that  we  might  have 
developed  and  produced." 

"And  she  found  us  !"  the  secretary  corrected. 

"Let's  see  what  it  has  cost  all  told."  He  ran 
over  on  his  fingers  the  different  large  items  of  ex 
pense  that  the  great  Idea  had  involved:  "The 
theater  building  eight  hundred,  the  first  year  in 
New  York  two  hundred,  Chicago  .  .  .  one  million 
six  hundred  thousand  odd  for  Louisiana  !"  Brain- 
ard  concluded  whimsically.  "And  she's  not  yet 
launched.  Our  kind  of  art  comes  high,  Ned  !" 

"You're  a  tip-top  loser,"  the  young  man  said 
admiringly.  "Don't  you  ever  think  what  it  will 
mean  to  you,  if  Lorilla  should  win  her  suit  ?" 

Brainard  stretched  himself  leisurely. 

"Except  for  being  licked  in  this  ^theater  busi 
ness  — and  I  don't  like  being  beaten  any  better 
than  the  next  man  —  I  should  howl  for  joy  when 
they  produce  the  fictitious  widow  and  the  orphan 
son  in  court.  It  would  set  me  free  for  another  great 
adventure.  That's  what  Herbert  Krutzmacht  and 
Melody  have  done  for  one  Edgar  Brainard  !" 

In  his  eyes  was  the  azure  glitter  of  the  sky 
above  the  stern  Arizona  mountains.  For  it  was, 
indeed,  a  glorious  world  of  venture  for  him  whose 
soul  was  keyed  to  the  right  pitch. 

2  A 


XIV 

NEVERTHELESS,  Brainard  felt  depressed  as  the 
time  drew  near  when  the  doors  of  his  theater 
would  have  to  close,  the  windows  be  boarded  up. 
Even  should  he  win  the  case  against  the  fraudulent 
claimants  of  the  Melody,  the  great  Idea  could 
never  be  wholly  perfected  in  all  the  splendid  de 
tails  that  he  had  dreamed.  No  one  man,  were  he 
Croesus  incarnate,  could  create  a  national  art.  He 
had  learned  that.  .  .  . 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  rehearsal  of  Her 
Great  Adventure,  Brainard  came  early  to  the 
theater  and  waited  in  the  library.  It  was  a 
pleasant  place,  he  reflected,  as  his  eyes  wandered 
over  the  empty  room,  with  its  polished  marquetry 
floor  richly  covered  with  rugs,  and  the  charming 
empire  furniture,  clocks,  and  ornaments  that  he 
had  taken  the  pains  to  place  there.  He  had  tried 
to  make  these  public  rooms  as  clublike  as  possible, 
with  ample  lounging  places,  so  that  the  theater 
might  be  something  of  a  home  for  the  players, 
as  well  as  a  workshop.  Above  the  library  was  a 
glorified  green  room,  where  simple  meals  were  to 

354 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  355 

be  had  for  a  moderate  price.  All  these  details 
were  part  of  the  Idea,  as  he  had  seen  it. 

The  People's  had  a  much  better  company  this 
year,  he  reflected,  —  no  great  talent,  but  all  fairly 
competent,  and  they  worked  together  well.  His 
enthusiasm  and  Farson's  had  finally  penetrated 
the  ignorant  and  selfish  surface  of.  theatrical 
nature.  Mac  had  been  tactfully  relegated  to 
Chicago,  and  the  promising  young  actor  Leaven- 
tritt  was  fast  making  a  place  for  himself  as 
manager. 

The  company  was  really  getting  into  shape. 
Ignored  as  they  were  by  the  critics  and  the  "in 
telligent"  public,  or  ridiculed  for  their  efforts,  the 
People's  Theater  had  won  the  allegiance  of  its 
players.  They  were  developing  a  fine  loyalty  to 
the  Idea,  and  a  respect  for  themselves  as  members 
of  an  institution  that  had  not  been  founded  for 
profit.  The  week  before,  when  Brainard  had  felt 
obliged  to  tell  the  company  of  his  financial  diffi 
culties,  and  of  the  fate  probably  in  store  for  the 
theater,  there  had  been  genuine,  unselfish  concern. 

"Your  salaries  will  be  paid  until  the  close  of  the 
season,"  he  told  them;  "and,  in  addition,  each 
one  will  receive  the  percentage  of  his  pension 
earned  by  his  length  of  service.  Unfortunately, 
there  are  no  profits  to  share ;  but  of  course  I  have 
assumed  all  losses.  And  now  I  want  you  to  do 


356  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

your  utmost  for  our  last  play  —  this  piece  by  Mr. 
Parson.  Give  it  the  very  best  you  have  in  you. 
It  is  a  strong  play,  an  American  play,  the  sort  of 
play  for  us  to  produce.  Let  us  end  well !" 

Then  they  had  proceeded  to  the  reading  of  the 
piece.  Afterward,  many  of  the  company  had 
come  to  him  to  express  personally  their  honest  dis 
appointment  at  the  enforced  closing  of  the  People's 
Theater.  They  seemed  to  realize  that  their  loss 
was  more  than  that  of  salary. 

"And  we'll  make  Her  Great  Adventure  go!" 
they  all  said. 

The  spirit  of  the  players  had  been  comforting 
to  the  embarrassed  patron. 

"The  People's  might  have  won  out  in  time, 
with  such  a  company  —  who  knows  ?  "  he  mused 
to  the  secretary. 

"We  may  win  out  yet !"  the  young  playwright 
answered,  with  a  certain  touch  of  vanity. 

"I  hope  so,  for  your  sake,  I'm  sure;  but  one 
play,  no  matter  how  successful,  could  not  keep  the 
Idea  afloat." 

On  the  eve  of  failure,  a  new  light  had  dawned  in 
the  enthusiastic  mind  of  the  founder.  He  real 
ized  that  whatever  one  man  tries  to  carry  through 
alone,  by  brute  force  of  will,  without  regard  for 
the  sympathy  and  the  help  of  others,  is  destined 
to  fail,  especially  where  it  is  a  matter  of  art  that 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  357 

should  appeal  to  the  many.  Not  Mrs.  Donnie 
Pearmain  and  her  "upper  classes"  were  needed, 
to  be  sure,  but  the  People;  and  the  People's 
Theater  had  failed  to  touch  the  People.  Very 
likely,  Brainard  mused,  Lorilla  was  the  hand  of 
fate  needed  to  prove  this  deeper  truth  to  him.  He 
had  failed  to  find  his  vanished  mistress,  Melody, 
and  with  her  inheritance  he  had  tried  to  achieve 
the  impossible.  Now  that  inheritance  might  be 
taken  altogether  out  of  his  control,  and  the  great 
Idea  vanish  into  the  air  from  which  his  will  had 
conjured  it.  ... 

A  page  brought  Brainard  a  letter  with  a  foreign 
postmark  just  as  he  was  leaving  the  library  for 
the  theater.  It  was  a  hasty  little  scribble  from 
Miss  Delacourt  —  one  of  the  few  with  which  the 
young  lady  had  favored  him.  In  a  hand  that 
galloped  unevenly  over  the  paper,  she  informed 
him : 

"  I'm  coming  home  —  sail  Saturday,  on  the  Amerika,  with 
Cissie  Pyce.  Best  wishes  ! 

"  L.  D." 

Brainard  wondered  what  freak  had  possessed 
the  youngster  thus  to  cut  short  her  lark,  as  he 
went  to  the  telephone  to  inquire  when  the  Amerika 
was  due  in  New  York.  He  determined  to  say 
nothing  to  Farson  of  the  girl's  homecoming  and 
to  meet  the  young  woman  at  the  dock  himself. 


358  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

There  might,  after  all,  be  some  method  in  her 
insanity  —  and  there  might  be  some  good  fortune 
in  it  for  Farson  and  his  play.  For  the  little 
neurasthenic  Miss  Dudley,  who,  to  the  most 
casual  eye,  had  evidently  never  been  farther  West 
than  Hoboken,  was  hardly  the  ideal  of  adventurous 
American  womanhood  that  the  dramatist  had 
drawn  in  his  Gertrude.  He  would  see  Louisiana 
first,  and  make  up  his  mind  whether  she  was  safe 
to  try  before  speaking  to  Farson,  whom  he  sus 
pected  of  a  more  than  friendly  liking  for  the  young 
woman. 

When  Brainard  returned  to  the  auditorium  he 
found  a  stranger  leaning  over  a  rear  seat,  an 
unlighted  cigar  between  his  teeth,  apparently  in 
terested  in  the  lines  of  the  new  play  that  Leaven- 
tritt  was  going  over  with  the  company.  As  Brain 
ard  approached,  the  man  turned  his  head ;  it  was 
Hollinger. 

"Hello  !"  he  said,  and  nodding  his  head  toward 
the  stage  asked,  "New  piece?" 

For  a  few  moments  the  two  men  listened  to  the 
halting  lines  from  the  stage,  then  Brainard  asked 
coldly : 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me  ?" 

Hollinger  looked  at  him  coolly,  the  merest  smile 
on  his  curving  lips. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "that  is  if  you  aren't  busy? 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  359 

I  was  in  New  York  and  thought  I'd  look  you 
up." 

Brainard  led  the  way  to  his  private  office,  which 
was  in  the  front  of  the  theater  behind  the  library. 

"What  is  it  ?"  he  asked  shortly,  closing  the  door 
and  standing  above  his  visitor,  who  had  seated 
himself  and  crossed  his  knees  comfortably.  Hoi- 
linger 's  smile  deepened  to  a  grin. 

"I  suppose  you  have  something  to  say  to  me," 
Brainard  added  impatiently. 

"Nothing  in  particular,"  Hollinger  replied. 
"I  wanted  to  see  you  !" 

"What  for?" 

"Well,  to  see  how  you  take  it  for  one  thing." 

Brainard  sat  down  in  his  chair  more  calmly  and 
waited. 

"Don't  you  think  you  made  a  mistake?" 
Hollinger  inquired. 

"No!" 

"You  don't  mind  the  —  er  —  row  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least." 

"You  don't  want  to  stop  it  all  before  it's  too 
late?" 

Brainard  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"Not  your  way,"  he  said  emphatically. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  would,"  the  old  fight- 
trust  magnate  sighed. 

"You  knew  I  wouldn't!" 


360  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"  Sometimes  your  kind  come  to  their  senses  — 
too  late.  I  just  thought  I  would  sound  you  again 
before  the  case  came  to  trial." 

"And  save  your  money  for  counsel  fees  ?"  Brain- 
ard  inquired  suavely. 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  trouble  me,"  Hollinger  re 
plied  lightly.  "You  guessed  that  I  was  putting 
up  the  money  ?  How  clever  of  you  !" 

"But  I  can't  yet  bring  myself  to  believe  that 
you  mean  to  share  with  that  woman  in  the  profits 
of  her  perjury,  if  she  succeeds." 

Hollinger  smoked  a  few  moments  before 
replying. 

"I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  have  no  in 
tention  of  taking  a  cent  from  Miss  Walters,  or 
Mrs.  Krutzmacht,  as  I  suppose  we  ought  to  call 
the  lady." 

"Then  why  do  you  go  to  all  this  trouble  ?" 

"For  various  reasons,  my  dear  young  man. 
For  the  amusement  I  find  in  it  for  one  thing. 
Can  you  understand  that  ?" 

"With  some  difficulty." 

"A  sort  of  sporting  interest  in  seeing  whether 
she  can  win  and  carry  off  the  bag,  with  the  mine, 
from  your  hands,  just  as  the  other  time  I  was 
immensely  interested  in  seeing  you  escape  from 
her  hands  at  Jalapa.  .  .  .  She  has  a  very  pretty 
case,  a  very  pretty  case,"  he  mused.  "The  best 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  361 

legal  talent  have  passed  on  it  and  found  it  quite 
flawless.  It  ought  to  go  through  without  a  hitch." 

"Unless  the  real  heir  should  turn  up  mean 
while." 

"You  still  stick  to  that  romantic  fiction  —  that 
young  man's  fancy  ?" 

"You  said  that  you  had  other  reasons  for  help 
ing  Miss  Walters  ?" 

"  One  other  reason :  I  felt  that  you  had  treated 
her  —  unsympathetically  —  oh,  quite  correctly 
from  your  puritan  point  of  view ;  morally  you  are 
always  above  reproach,  my  young  friend.  But  you 
are  slightly  inhuman.  Your  attitude  that  night 
when  we  discussed  this  matter  at  your  house  was 
both  narrow  and  inhuman.  It  disgusted  me,  if 
you  care  to  know  frankly  what  I  thought." 

"And  in  order  to  punish  me  for  not  following 
your  advice  you  are  conniving  with  this  woman 
in  the  perpetration  of  fraud,"  Brainard  sneered. 

"You  use  words  rather  crudely,"  Hollinger  re 
plied  in  a  mild  tone.  "I  don't  understand 
'punish'  and  *  fraud'  in  the  way  you  do.  You 
are  determined  to  complicate  a  simple  enough 
situation,  and  I  am  determined  to  give  your  virtue 
an  all-round  test.  .  .  .  Well,  your  mind  is  made 
up?" 

"Absolutely!"  Brainard  exclaimed,  rising  to 
terminate  the  interview. 


362  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Perhaps  you  have  your  own  widow  and  child  ? " 
Hollinger  suggested  with  a  laugh. 

"Possibly!" 

Then  they  went  into  the  library,  which  the 
fight-trust  man  looked  at  with  much  interest. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  house?"  Brainard 
asked  good-naturedly,  always  proud  to  show  off 
his  beloved  theater. 

"Above  everything !  I've  read  so  much  about  it." 

Brainard  conducted  Hollinger  over  the  building, 
explaining  to  him  his  purposes  in  making  it  more 
than  a  mere  auditorium  with  a  stage.  Hollinger 
admired  generously  and  intelligently  all  that  he 
saw.  As  they  came  out  at  last  in  the  darkened 
auditorium  where  the  new  play  was  still  being 
read,  he  remarked  to  his  host : 

"I  am  very  much  obliged.  It  is  all  extremely 
interesting,  a  kind  of  kindergarten  for  the  drama. 
Is  this  one  of  your  products  ?"  he  nodded  towards 
the  stage. 

"It's  Parson's  new  play.  We  have  high  hopes 
for  it !"  Brainard  said. 

"Well,  hurry  up  with  it.  I  suppose  you  won't 
be  running  theaters  for  amusement  after  —  er  — 
the  event?" 

"That  remains  to  be  seen  !" 

"If  you  find  that  you  want  to  get  rid  of  this 
place,  let  me  know,  will  you  ?  " 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  363 

"Thanks!" 

"I  might  find  a  use  for  it.  ...  I  believe  Miss 
Walters  has  ambitions  to  be  a  real  star  with  her 
own  theater.  That  is  more  chic  these  days  than 
owning  a  copper  mine,  and  she  will  need  occupa 
tion." 

"So  that  was  another  of  your  reasons  for  this 
call  ?"  Brainard  suggested  with  a  laugh. 

Hollinger  smiled. 

"She  might  take  you  on  as  manager  —  how 
would  that  do?" 

"I'll  discuss  it  with  her  personally,  when  the 
time  comes  !" 

"I  shall  advise  her  to  let  you  manage  the  mine 
instead  !"  Hollinger  retorted,  after  listening  to 
another  of  Parson's  rather  flamboyant  periods. 
"I  think  she  and  I  have  better  notions  of  what  the 
'People'  like." 

With  a  last  smile  he  slowly  sauntered  towards 
the  exit,  where  he  paused  long  enough  to  catch  a 
few  more  of  the  speeches  in  Her  Great  Adventure, 
which  seemed  to  cause  him  unhappiness. 

"  Oh,  Lord  ! "  he  murmured,  and  rushed  for  the 
door. 


XV 

As  the  big,  pot-bellied  steamship  was  being 
slowly  pushed  into  her  berth,  Brainard,  standing 
at  the  end  of  the  pier,  fancied  that  he  could  recog 
nize  two  little  figures  on  the  upper  deck.  These 
feminine  figures,  rather  eccentrically  dressed ,  were 
evidently  the  knot  of  a  laughing,  joking  circle  of 
American  men,  all  exhilarated  by  their  approach 
ing  return  to  their  beloved  city.  When  the  great 
black  hull  threw  its  shadow  over  the  dock,  one 
of  the  little  figures  waved  both  arms. 

"That's  Louisiana,  sure  enough!"  Brainard 
exclaimed,  much  relieved  to  know  that  the  im 
pulsive  young  woman  had  not  abandoned  her 
home-coming  at  the  last  moment  from  some  fresh 
whim. 

Ever  since  he  had  received  her  little  note  on  the 
previous  Monday,  he  had  been  astonished  at  him 
self.  The  prospect  of  seeing  Louisiana  again  had 
often  come  into  his  mind  with  an  agreeable  sensa 
tion,  hopping  in  without  reason,  as  if  sure  of  a 
welcome.  This  morning  he  had  displayed  a 
greater  nervousness  at  breakfast  than  he  had 

364 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  365 

shown  over  the  possible  loss  of  the  Melody  mine, 
and  had  reached  the  dock  an  hour  too  early. 

All  this  anxiety  he  explained  to  himself  on  the 
score  of  his  desire  to  help  on  his  secretary's  play. 
From  the  beginning  Miss  Dudley  had  shown  such 
an  inability  to  understand  her  part,  and  to  cope 
with  the  character  of  Gertrude,  that  the  young 
playwright  was  in  despair.  And  yet  Brainard's 
interest  in  the  maiden  effort  of  his  young  secretary 
had  not  led  him  to  confide  the  news  of  Louisiana's 
unexpected  return.  He  had  been  gratified  indeed 
to  learn  that  the  young  man  did  not  suspect  it. 

Brainard  wormed  his  way  into  the  crowd  at  the 
foot  of  the  gangway  and  waited  impatiently  while 
the  thin  stream  of  passengers  filed  down  to  the 
dock.  The  two  actresses  came  together.  Loui 
siana  reached  out  a  thin  little  arm  to  grasp  Brain 
ard's  hand  with  a  ringing  "Howdy  !"  before  she 
gained  the  dock. 

The  European  trip  had  made  little  surface 
change  in  the  young  woman.  She  was  hugging 
to  her  a  variety  of  flowers,  several  parcels,  and  a 
toy  dog  —  a  substitute  for  that  shambling  pup 
with  which  she  used  to  appear  at  the  People's 
Theater. 

"Thanks!"  she  bubbled,  as  Brainard  relieved 
her  of  these  impedimenta.  "A  lot  of  trucky 
rubbish  I  couldn't  jam  into  my  trunk  nohow, 


366  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

though  I  got  a  tub  of  a  German  steward  to  do  the 
dead- weight  act  on  the  lid.  You  see,  I  started 
from  London  on  the  run  for  the  steamer  —  didn't 
have  time  to  pack." 

She  glanced  furtively  at  Brainard,  then  down 
the  long  pier. 

"This  town  looks  good  to  me,  even  after  Vienna 
and  Paris.  Yes,  I'd  like  some  real  breakfast, 
thank  you  !  You  must  have  camped  out  here  all 
night  to  turn  up  at  such  an  hour.  And  how's 
everything  ?  How's  the  — 

Her  voluble  stream  suddenly  ceased,  and  her 
gray  eyes  rested  full  on  Brainard's  face,  as  if  even 
in  her  heedless  mood  she  hesitated  to  ask  certain 
painful  questions.  Louisiana  was  very  pretty  and 
quite  smartly  dressed,  as  Brainard  noticed,  with 
a  sense  of  satisfaction  in  the  size  of  the  letter  of 
credit  that  he  had  replenished  generously  from 
time  to  time  during  the  last  year.  Yes,  in  spite 
of  her  careless  chatter,  any  one  could  see  that 
Miss  Delacourt  was  something  of  a  person  now. 

Her  companion  joined  them. 

"You  know  Miss  Pyce,  of  course,"  Louisiana 
said.  "Spell  it  with  a  y,  please  !  We  ran  bump 
into  each  other  in  Piccadill  last  week.  Cissie  had 
engaged  a  deck  stateroom  all  to  herself,  little  swell, 
and  that's  how  I  could  get  back  on  this  boat." 

"But  why  did  you  come  in  such  a  hurry?" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  367 

Brainard  asked,  when  Miss  Pyce  was  diverted  to 
the  inspection  of  her  trunks.  "I  thought  you 
were  to  stay  over  until  the  fall." 

Louisiana  looked  softly  up  out  of  her  gray  eyes. 

"But  you  see  Cissie  told  me  all  about  it !" 

"Told  you  what?" 

"That  your  mine  had  gone  dry,  or  something, 
and  the  theater  had  to  close,  and  you  were  in  a 
hole  generally." 

"But  that  wouldn't  have  made  any  difference 
about  you  —  at  least  at  present.  I  told  Farson 
not  to  write  you  of  our  troubles." 

"He  didn't.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  Cissie,  I 
shouldn't  have  known  a  thing,  though  she  said 
it  was  all  in  the  papers.  But  I  never  read  the 
papers  over  there." 

"I  wish  Cissie  had  kept  her  mouth  shut !" 

"She  couldn't,  you  know,  if  she  had  something 
nasty  about  the  People's  to  tell.  But  ain't  you 
the  least  bit  glad  to  see  me,  after  all  my  hustle 
to  get  here  as  quick  as  I  could  ?" 

"You  know  I  am  awfully  glad  !" 

"Naturally  I  couldn't  stay  over  there,  batting 
around,  and  you  folks  in  trouble  —  just  couldn't 
have  swallowed  a  mouthful  of  food  ! " 

Brainard  held  out  his  hand. 

"Thank  you  !  That's  the  nicest  thing  I  have 
heard  for  many  a  day." 


368  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Perhaps  I  could  do  something  to  help  ?" 

"What  ? "  Brainard  asked  jokingly.  " Discover 
the  real  heir  to  the  property  ?" 

Miss  Delacourt  looked  puzzled  by  this  reference 
to  his  predicament.  Evidently  Miss  Pyce's  in 
formation  had  been  only  of  the  most  general  char 
acter.  The  details  of  the  threatened  suit  had  not 
been  considered  of  sufficient  importance  by  the 
news  agencies  to  cable  to  Europe. 

"I  can  do  something,"  the  girl  said,  drawing 
herself  up  haughtily.  "I'm  no  stage-struck  kid 
now.  I'm  going  to  act." 

"There  is  something  you  can  do  for  me  —  for 
us,"  Brainard  hastened  to  say,  remembering  his 
chief  excuse  for  meeting  her  at  the  dock.  "I 
want  you  to  come  up  to  my  house  for  breakfast 
right  away,  and  hear  what  it  is.  Bring  Miss  Pyce, 
too,  if  she  will  come." 

"Oh,  she'll  come !  Cissie  carries  around  a 
trunkful  of  floppy  airs,  but  she's  a  right  good  sort. 
I'm  going  to  stay  with  her  until  I  strike  a  job. 
She's  half  promised  to  get  me  something  in  The 
Star  of  the  Seven  Seas  —  kitchen  wench,  I  fancy. 
Cissie  isn't  giving  much  away." 

"There's  something  better  than  that  ready  for 
you.  We  want  you  to  do  the  Gertrude  in  Ned's 
play." 

"Is  the  People's  still  open?"  she  cried  in  as- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  369 

tonishment.  "Cissie  said  it  had  gone  dead  broke, 
and  was  shut  for  good." 

"This  is  our  last  effort ;  and  we  want  to  go  down 
waving  the  flag.  It's  Parson's  play  — " 

"  Yes,  I  know  —  he  tried  to  put  me  in,  but  I  bet 
he  didn't  succeed." 

"It's  a  good  play,  though !  And  Ned  has 
slaved  for  the  theater  these  last  two  years.  We 
must  do  our  best  for  him.  Has  he  written  you 
about  the  play?" 

"Oh,  yes ;   I  should  say  he  had  —  lots." 

The  calm,  impersonal  way  in  which  she  admitted 
her  correspondence  with  the  young  secretary 
pleased  Brainard  unreasonably. 

"He'll  be  there  for  luncheon;  so  speak  to  your 
friend,  and  let's  be  off." 

Miss  Pyce  condescended  to  accept  the  invitation 
to  breakfast  from  the  proprietor  of  the  People's 
Theater,  as  she  had  nothing  better  to  do  with  her 
time.  Her  own  manager  had  wounded  her  vanity 
by  not  appearing  at  the  dock  with  an  automobile. 
So  the  three  were  soon  tucked  into  Brainard's 
motor  and  crossing  the  ferry.  Miss  Pyce  in 
quired  after  the  fate  of  the  People's  company  in  a 
tone  of  lofty  kindness,  until  Louisiana  kicked  her 
about  the  ankles,  causing  her  to  relapse  into  a 
sulky  gloom. 

"The  salubrious  air  of  Broadway  will  do  you 

*B 


370  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

good,  I  hope,  Cissie,"  Louisiana  remarked  severely. 
"I've  stood  your  nonsense  for  six  days  because  I 
had  to.  Now  come  to,  please !  Just  because 
you've  got  a  fool  play,  and  a  fool  manager  to  waste 
his  money  on  you,  you  needn't  try  the  Duse- 
Bernhardt-Ellen  Terry  pose  on  old  friends  ! " 

Miss  Pyce  promptly  descended  several  steps  and 
began  to  converse  about  the  New  York  weather, 
which  she  said  was  trying  to  English  nerves. 

When  they  arrived  at  Brainard's  house,  they 
found  that  Farson  had  not  yet  come  in  from  re 
hearsal.  The  two  women  were  shown  into  the 
little  den  behind  the  library,  while  Brainard 
glanced  over  his  mail. 

Five  minutes  had  scarcely  elapsed  when  a 
shriek  came  from  the  inner  room,  and  the  door  was 
thrown  violently  open.  Louisiana  stood  on  the 
threshold,  clasping  against  her  breast  a  little  pic 
ture  framed  in  a  thin  gold  molding. 

"Where  did  you  get  this?"  she  demanded 
breathlessly. 

Brainard  looked  at  her  admiringly.  As  she  stood 
there  against  the  dark  shadows  of  the  inner  room, 
the  sun  from  the  window  falling  in  a  great  gold 
bar  across  her  auburn  hair  and  violet-colored 
traveling  dress  —  thin,  erect,  full  of  the  passionate 
eagerness  of  youth  —  he  saw  Farson's  character 
created. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  371 

"Bravo,  Gertrude!"  he  cried. 

"Tell  me,  where  did  you  find  this?"  she  insisted 
impatiently. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  he  asked,  taking 
the  picture  from  her  hands. 

Her  face  followed  his  with  curiosity  and  expecta 
tion,  her  eyes  searching  him. 

"Where  did  you  get  it  ?"  she  repeated. 

"This  water  color?  I  picked  it  up  in  Arizona 
-  out  there  where  my  mine  is  located.  It's  a 
long  story  —  my  story.  I'll  tell  it  to  you  some  of 
these  days." 

"Now  !  Tell  it  to  me  now  !"  she  insisted,  with 
something  more  than  childish  impetuosity. 

But  just  then  Cissie  Pyce,  patting  the  marvel 
ous  folds  of  her  hair,  came  from  the  inner  room. 

"Not  now,"  Brainard  replied,  looking  meaningly 
at  Miss  Pyce. 

Taking  the  water  color  from  Louisiana's  re 
luctant  hands,  he  replaced  it  above  the  desk  in  his 
private  study,  where  it  had  always  hung  since  he 
had  moved  into  this  house. 

Parson  came  in  presently,  and  in  the  flurry  of  his 
surprise  and  greetings  the  subject  of  the  water 
color  was  apparently  forgotten.  Now  and  again, 
however,  during  their  lively  breakfast,  Brainard 
found  Louisiana's  gray  eyes  resting  on  him  with  a 
peculiar  intentness.  She  did  not  seem  so  much  ex- 


372  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

cited  over  the  prospect  of  playing  Gertrude  in 
Her  Great  Adventure  as  he  had  expected. 

After  the  meal  Cissie  tore  herself  away  reluc 
tantly,  and  the  three  others  went  over  the  new 
play,  the  author  explaining  some  of  his  ideas,  and 
seeking  to  get  the  young  actress  interested  in  her 
part.  Louisiana  listened,  but  evidently  her 
thoughts  were  far  away.  Farson  was  visibly  dis 
appointed. 

"I  think  Miss  Delacourt  must  be  tired  after 
her  journey  and  the  early  landing,"  Brainard  in 
terposed  in  kindly  fashion. 

"Of  course  —  pardon  me  !"  the  young  dramatist 
said,  throwing  down  his  manuscript.  "Let  me 
set  you  down  at  your  hotel  on  the  way  to  the 
theater." 

"No,  you  are  already  late  for  the  rehearsal.  I 
will  take  Miss  Delacourt  home  when  the  motor 
comes  back.  I  have  something  to  say  to  her." 

Farson  left  with  reluctance,  after  making  an 
engagement  for  the  morrow  with  the  young 
actress. 

"And  I'll  know  my  lines  by  that  time,"  she 
promised  him. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  upon  the  secretary 
than  she  leaped  to  her  feet. 

"Now  for  the  story  !  And  may  I  see  the  picture 
again?" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  373 

Brainard  fetched  the  little  water  color  and 
placed  it  in  her  hands. 

1  "As  I  told  you,"  he  said,  "it's  by  way  of  being 
the  story  of  my  own  life  —  at  least,  of  the  only 
part  that  counts  as  life  !" 

"Yes  ?"  she  said  expectantly. 

Looking  over  her  shoulders,  he  pointed  to  a  spot 
in  the  distant  mountain  background  of  the  sketch. 

"In  there  is  the  site  of  the  great  Melody 
mine  - 

"  Melody  —  what  ?  Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 
the  girl  stammered  in  renewed  excitement. 

"The  Melody  mine  —  that's  the  name  of  the 
mine  about  which  there  is  the  litigation,  you  know. 
That's  where  all  the  money  for  the  theater  came 
from.  It's  the  famous  pot  of  gold  —  my  Aladdin's 
lamp  —  only  it's  likely  to  change  owners." 

"But  why  did  you  call  it  Melody?"  Louisiana 
demanded,  with  glistening  eyes. 

"That's  all  in  the  story,  too,"  laughed  Brainard. 

" Then  tell  it  to  me  —  all!" 

She  dropped  the  picture  into  her  lap,  and, 
holding  her  little  hands  tightly  clasped,  fastened 
her  eyes  on  Brainard's  face,  as  if  what  he  had  to 
say  was  of  momentous  interest  to  her.  But  that, 
he  reflected,  somewhat  flattered,  was  just  Loui 
siana's  way. 

"Here  goes,  then,  Miss  Delacourt,  for  the  story 


374  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

of  my  life,  which  explains  that  water-color  sketch 
being  in  my  possession  !" 

And  Brainard  retold  the  tale  of  his  great  ad 
venture  since  he  played  the  part  of  good  Samaritan 
to  the  dying  stranger.  It  took  some  time  to  tell 
the  story,  and  he  did  not  hurry.  The  motor 
came  back  and  waited  below,  while  he  went  into 
all  the  details  of  the  story  with  which  we  are 
familiar. 

At  certain  places  Louisiana  opened  her  lips,  as 
if  she  could  not  control  an  exclamation ;  but 
when  Brainard  paused,  she  merely  motioned  him 
impatiently  to  continue.  As  he  told  of  his  drop 
ping  from  the  train  at  the  lonely  water  tank,  and 
of  the  strange  little  girl  who  had  guided  him  to 
Gunnison's  shack,  Louisiana's  mobile  lips  parted 
in  a  curious  smile.  She  was  not  so  much  interested 
in  his  Mexican  adventures,  nor  in  the  European 
chapters,  but  when  he  described  his  first  visit  to 
the  deserted  house  on  the  hill  above  Monument, 
the  girl's  face  sobered  to  a  wistful  expression,  and 
she  caught  her  breath  as  if  she  might  sob. 

"And  there  I  missed  her  by  a  few  weeks!" 
Brainard  said. 

Louisiana  laughed  aloud,  as  if  it  were  all  a  joke. 

"It  sounds,"  Brainard  remarked,  having  rapidly 
concluded  the  account  of  his  experiences  as  a  miner, 
"like  a  dime-novel  yarn,  but  it  happens  to  be  all 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  375 

true.  And  throughout  my  adventures,  all  through 
these  six  years,  I've  clung  to  the  idea  of  just  being 
the  trustee  for  this  unknown  lady  —  this  Miss 
Melody  Krutzmacht,  or  whatever  her  real  name 
may  be.  I  think  that  is  what  has  saved  me  from 
becoming  a  plain  gambler,  and  the  whole  business 
no  better  than  the  melodrama  Farson  and  I  saw, 
The  Stolen  Bonds,  where  we  met  my  old  friend 
Hollinger.  I've  got  Melody  to  thank  for  saving 
my  moral  character,  as  well  as  doing  a  lot  else  for 
me.  But  I  haven't  much  hope  now  of  finding 
the  lady,  to  thank  her  for  anything  !" 

"She  ought  to  have  something  to  thank  you 
for,  I  should  say!"  Miss  Delacourt  exclaimed 
warmly. 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I  really  feel  in  my  bones  that 
those  crooks  will  beat  me  out  of  the  property, 
unless  a  miracle  comes  along.  I've  been  a  poor 
sort  of  steward  while  I  had  charge  of  the  money. 
I  put  every  cent  I  squeezed  out  of  the  bankers 
into  developing  the  mine,  and  saved  myself  by  a 
fluke  with  the  sulfur  wells.  Then  all  the  money 
they  brought  in  I've  sunk  in  this  theater  game, 
without  much  to  show  for  it,  as  you  know." 

"Didn't  you  keep  a  few  dollars  for  yourself?" 
Louisiana  inquired  with  childish  directness. 

"Oh,  there  are  a  few  thousands  lying  around  — 
enough,  young  lady,  to  have  kept  you  going  in 


376  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

Europe  another  year,  and  to  put  on  this  play  of 
Parson's.  That  wipes  the  slate  clean,  and  I  must 
pawn  these  duds  to  stake  myself  !" 

"Maybe  this  play  will  make  money,"  the  actress 
suggested  thoughtfully. 

"That  will  be  the  miracle,  then!"  Brainard 
exclaimed  whimsically.  "It  will  be  a  greater 
miracle  than  the  one  that  made  me  into  a  million 
aire." 

"Don't  you  believe  in  Mr.  Farson's  play?" 

"Of  course  !  But  I  don't  believe  in  our  luck, 
nor  in  the  people's  taste  in  drama,  as  I  once  did." 

The  girl  sat  staring  at  the  little  picture,  clutch 
ing  its  frame  with  her  hands.  After  a  time  she 
looked  up  into  Brainard's  face  with  a  winning  ex 
pression  about  her  small  mouth. 

"Will  you  give  me  this  ?" 

Brainard  hesitated. 

"I  would  give  you  pretty  much  anything  else 
I  have,"  he  replied.  "But,  you  see,  that  sketch 
is  all  I  have  of  Melody  —  supposing  it  was  hers  ! 
You  understand  ?" 

"You  have  a  good  deal  of  feeling  for  this 
Melody?" 

"Yes,"  Brainard  admitted,  slightly  reddening, 
and  added  more  lightly,  "She's  been  my  bene 
factress,  you  see." 

The  girl  raised  her  gray  eyes  and  looked  stead- 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  377 

fastly  at  him.  Her  face  was  older,  Brainard 
suddenly  perceived,  than  he  had  remembered  it. 
Yes,  the  trip  abroad  had  done  much  for  the  wild 
young  girl. 

"I  want  this!"  she  insisted. 

"Then  you  shall  have  it !"  Brainard  exclaimed 
impulsively,  and  added  with  another  blush,  "It's 
about  all  that  I  can  give  you  !'" 

"I  know  it  —  and  that's  why  I  want  it  so 
much!" 

After  that  there  was  a  conscious  silence  between 
them,  until  Miss  Delacourt  rose  to  leave.  She 
walked  slowly  to  the  door,  as  if  loath  to  go ;  then 
she  turned  and  reached  out  both  hands  to  Brainard. 
He  took  them,  and  they  stood  facing  each  other 
mutely. 

For  the  first  time  in  all  these  years  his  loyalty 
to  his  unknown  mistress  completely  vanished. 
The  ideal  of  Melody  had  faded  from  his  mind. 


XVI 

IF  the  young  dramatist  had  been  disappointed 
by  Miss  Delacourt's  apparent  lack  of  interest  in 
his  play  and  in  the  part  of  Gertrude  on  the  occasion 
of  that  first  luncheon,  he  was  quickly  reassured 
by  the  energetic  way  in  which,  beginning  with  the 
next  day,  she  threw  herself  into  her  work.  As 
soon  as  she  had  time  "to  roll  up  her  sleeves,"  as 
she  expressed  it,  she  plunged  into  the  rehearsals, 
an  incarnation  of  work  and  enthusiasm. 

To  be  sure,  she  put  the  author  through  some 
uncomfortable  hours  while  she  criticized  his  piece 
and  suggested  many  important  changes  with  her 
usual  frankness  and  point.  She  "combed  it  out," 
as  she  said,  line  by  line,  and  convinced  him, 
against  his  will,  that  he  should  cut  freely  and 
sharpen  his  dialogue  all  through.  Moreover,  she 
set  him  right  on  several  subtle  points  in  the 
heroine's  psychology. 

"She  knows  what  she's  about,  too,"  Farson 
reported  to  Brainard.  "I  don't  see  how  she's 
done  it,  but  in  her  flip  way  she's  absorbed  a  lot 
in  Europe.  She  knows  what  all  of  them  are  doing. 
She  was  quoting  Brieux,  Barrie,  and  Shaw  at  me 

378 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  379 

last  night  all  in  one  gulp.  I  must  rewrite  that 
third  curtain  to  suit  her  ladyship." 

"You  must  remember  that  you  are  dealing  with 
a  star,"  Brainard  observed  dryly.  "Louisiana 
may  be  new  to  the  firmament,  but  she  knows  in 
stinctively  what  belongs  to  her  star  ship." 

In  much  the  same  manner  the  new  leading  lady 
took  hold  of  the  other  players,  and  "shook  'em 
all  by  the  neck  and  woke  'em  up."  There  were 
but  three  weeks  left,  and  she  wore  the  company 
almost  to  the  point  of  revolt  by  the  long  rehearsals 
she  demanded.  When  they  grumbled,  she  read 
them  a  characteristic  lecture. 

"It's  your  last  stunt  for  the  old  People's.  You 
know  you  have  all  got  a  lot  out  of  the  concern  — 
for  one  thing,  better  pay  than  some  of  you  will 
ever  see  again ;  and  much  more  besides.  So 
show  that  you've  got  something  warm  inside 
your  anatomy  where  your  hearts  ought  to  be  — 
at  least  a  dog's  gratitude  for  the  hand  that's  fed 
you.  The  piece  is  all  right,  too ;  it  will  make  the 
jaded  pulse  of  Broadway  flutter  like  an  ingenue. 
Just  you  give  the  public  a  chance  to  discover  that 
here  is  a  play  as  is  a  play  ! " 

During  these  strenuous  weeks  of  rehearsal 
Brainard  was  absent  most  of  the  time  in  Arizona 
and  Washington,  where  the  already  celebrated 
case  of  the  Krutzmacht  widow  was  now  imminent. 


380  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

He  had  come  to  believe  that  Farson  had  more 
than  a  professional  interest  in  his  Gertrude,  and 
he  preferred  to  be  absent  from  the  scene  of  the 
wooing ;  but  on  the  day  of  the  dress  rehearsal  of 
Her  Great  Adventure  he  returned  to  New  York 
and  dropped  in  at  the  theater  on  his  way  home, 
slipping  into  a  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  dim  house. 

The  piece  went  with  amazing  swiftness  and 
smoothness,  thanks  to  the  hard  work  Miss  Dela- 
court  had  got  out  of  the  company.  Absorbed 
by  the  play,  Brainard  was  completely  taken  out 
of  the  wearying  round  of  his  daily  perplexities. 

"It  is  a  play,"  he  muttered  excitedly  to  him 
self,  "and  they  do  it  wonderfully  well.  That  girl 
is  almost  great.  If  the  public  will  only  come  to 
see  her,  and  not  believe  what  the  newspapers  say, 
they'll  understand.  She's  an  actress  !" 

He  repeated  these  warm  words  of  praise  a 
little  later  in  Miss  Delacourt's  dressing  room, 
where  he  went  to  congratulate  the  actress.  Loui 
siana  was  in  street  costume,  buttoning  up  her 
gloves,  when  he  arrived. 

"I  saw  you  in  the  back  row,"  she  said  in  reply. 
"Any  better  news  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  The  first  court  reserved  its 
decision.  They  put  up  an  amazing  case,  the 
impudent  rascals  !  They  almost  made  me  be 
lieve  them  in  spite  of  myself.  I  must  tell  you  all 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  381 

about  it  sometime.  I  think  we  shall  be  able  to 
pull  off  Her  Great  Adventure  just  in  time  before 
the  sheriff  closes  the  doors." 

He  laughed  good-humoredly  at  the  situation, 
and  handed  her  his  cigarette  case.  Louisiana 
lighted  a  cigarette,  then  said  abruptly : 

"I  hope  you  won't  be  angry  with  me.  I've 
borrowed  something  of  yours  while  you  were 
away.  Couldn't  wait  to  get  permission." 

"Honored  that  you  found  anything  worth 
taking!  What  is  it?" 

"I  borrowed  a  new  name  for  myself  !" 

"I  remember  you  said  that  we  had  ruined  the 
old  one  for  you  !"  he  laughed.  "You  were  sitting 
over  there  in  the  corner,  too  mad  to  cry,  when  you 
said  it." 

"After  making  such  a  guy  of  myself  as  Cordelia 
I  couldn't  bear  to  see  the  old  name  on  the  bill 
boards.  Besides,  I  think  I  like  this  one  better, 
anyway." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I'm  calling  myself  Melody  - 

Brainard's  expression  changed  suddenly)  and 
he  turned  away. 

"You  don't  like  it,"  she  said  coaxingly.  "But 
it's  a  pretty  name  !" 

"Melody  what?"  he  asked  with  a  touch  of 
sternness. 


382  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"Oh,  just  Melody  White  —  that's  all." 

"But  Melody  was  her  name,"  he  protested. 

"I  know  !  You  told  me  so.  But  that  Melody 
doesn't  exist  really ;  she's  just  a  name  —  an  idea 
you  have.  I  took  a  fancy  to  it  —  my  dotty  point, 
see  ?  I'm  superstitious  about  it.  I  want  to  make 
this  play  a  great  big  success,  as  you  made  the 
mine,"  she  said  swiftly.  "So  don't  be  cross  with 
me  for  making  free  with  your  unknown  lady  love's 
first  name  !" 

Brainard  smiled  in  spite  of  himself  at  the  girl's 
insistence  on  a  trivial  thing. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  object,"  he  said 
slowly. 

But  he  realized  that  even  in  speaking  he  did 
object.  It  was  one  thing  to  ask  him  for  Melody's 
sketch,  the  only  memento  he  had  of  his  mistress, 
but  another  to  take  this  liberty  with  the  mythical 
Melody's  name,  and  to  post  it  up  for  the  whole 
world  to  see  on  a  theatrical  billboard.  In  a 
moment,  however,  Brainard's  common  sense  came 
back  to  him. 

"There's  no  reason  why  you  shouldn't  take 
that  name  as  well  as  any  other,  if  you  can  make  it 
right  with  Farson  and  the  manager.  I  should 
think  they  might  object,  after  all  the  press  work 
they  have  done  for  Louisiana  Delacourt." 

"I  can  manage  them  all  right !" 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  383 

The  new  Melody  puffed  these  gentlemen  aside 
in  a  cloud  of  smoke. 

They  drove  uptown  together  in  Brainard's  car, 
but  neither  spoke.  The  girl,  Brainard  observed, 
was  unwontedly  excited,  her  little  hands  gnawing 
at  the  muff  in  her  lap,  her  keen  eyes  devouring 
the  passing  crowd  on  the  streets.  Brainard,  who 
was  tired  in  mind  and  body,  was  content  merely 
to  watch  his  companion  from  his  corner  through 
half -closed  eyes. 

After  all  the  hard  work  of  the  past  weeks,  Loui 
siana  —  or,  as  she  now  preferred  to  call  herself, 
Melody  —  was  marvelously  fresh  and  pretty. 
She  had  the  lithe  body,  the  deep-set  eyes,  the 
sensitive,  mobile  features  of  a  real  temperament. 
He  wondered  whether  she  cared  deeply  for  Far- 
son.  The  young  secretary  was  undoubtedly  at 
tractive,  and  should  this  play  bring  him  the  atten 
tion  it  ought,  he  might  become  a  good  dramatist ; 
but  if  the  girl  had  an  ambition  to  be  a  great  actress, 
she  had  better  not  tie  herself  yet  to  any  man. 
And  it  comforted  Brainard  curiously  to  remember 
how  unmercifully  she  had  handled  the  young  man's 
play. 

"  The  Star  of  the  Seven  Seas  is  to  be  with 
drawn,"  she  said  at  last,  breaking  in  on  his  medi 
tation.  "Only  two  weeks'  run  —  dead  failure! 
Cissie  thinks  New  York  audiences  are  exceedingly 


384  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

provincial.  She  is  going  back  to  dear  old  Lunnon 
as  soon  as  she  can  get  there.  Maybe  I  shall  be 
able  to  help  her  later." 

As  the  car  stopped  before  a  third-rate  hotel  in 
the  Forties,  Brainard  inquired : 

"So  Cissie  has  moved  from  the  Astor?" 

"Yes,  Cissie  is  visiting  me  now,"  the  actress 
replied. 

"Times  change  —  for  us  all !" 

"They  do  that  —  sure  —  and  for  the  better 
sometimes!"  the  young  actress  averred  with  a 
contented  smile. 


xvn 

LATTERLY  the  critics  had  completely  ignored 
the  existence  of  the  People's  Theater.  Its  an 
nouncements  aroused  no  more  public  interest 
than  the  program  of  an  ethical  culture  society. 
Brainard,  who  had  at  last  learned  the  real  im 
portance  of  publicity,  feared  lest  this  same  con 
temptuous  indifference  on  the  part  of  the  press 
might  bury  his  young  secretary's  play  in  hasty 
and  undeserved  oblivion. 

But  as  he  sank  into  his  seat  on  the  following 
Monday  night  he  was  surprised  and  relieved  at 
the  size  and  the  character  of  the  audience.  All 
the  leading  critics  of  the  metropolitan  press  were 
there,  also  many  of  "those  who  know,"  and 
whose  verdict  is  useful  indirectly.  There  were 
some  theatrical  people,  and  a  few  fashionable 
folk  from  Mrs.  Donnie  Pearmain's  world.  The 
rest  were  of  the  ordinary,  semi-intelligent  theater 
going  sort. 

It  was  an  ideal  house  before  which  to  try  out 

the  new  piece.     If  the  play  had  anything  enduring 

in  it,  there  were  those  present  who  could  recognize 

the  fact.     Ned  Farson  had  many  personal  friends 

2c  385 


386  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

in  the  city  —  college  mates  at  various  clubs,  young 
literary  aspirants,  dramatists,  newspaper  and  pro 
fessional  men.  Among  these,  evidently,  the  word 
had  been  passed  around  that  Ned's  play  was  to  be 
produced  —  and  that  was  enough.  Louisiana 
had  also  worked  Cissie,  and  Cissie  Pyce  had 
reached  other  professional  circles. 

"And  now  for  the  play,"  Brainard  sighed, 
dropping  his  glasses  after  this  preliminary  recon 
naissance,  "and  for  our  one  actress  !" 

At  last,  in  the  hush  of  a  well-trained,  expectant 
audience,  the  heavy  curtains  drew  apart  noise 
lessly,  revealing  the  first  scene  —  a  rough  shack  in 
a  mining  camp,  with  a  splendid  background  of 
mountains  and  desert. 

There  was  no  doubt  from  the  first  curtain  that 
the  piece  would  go  —  would  hold  this  audience, 
any  audience,  by  the  simple  power  of  its  story,  its 
honest  pathos  and  humor,  its  vitality  and  veracity. 
But  it  was  not  until  the  first  scene  of  the  third  act 
that  the  people  gathered  there  awoke  to  the  fact 
that  a  real  actress,  and  one  whose  very  name  had 
not  been  heard  before  that  night,  was  taking  this 
piece,  and  the  part  of  the  Western  girl,  Gertrude, 
to  present  herself  as  an  artist.  "Melody  White" 
was  her  name  on  the  program. 

"Who  is  she  ?"  was  the  whisper  that  ran  around 
the  theater. 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  387 

Certainly  she  was  not  the  Louisiana  Delacourt 
whose  liberties  with  Cordelia  had  made  a  farce  of 
Lear!  Quiet,  almost  subdued  in  her  methods, 
with  an  extraordinary  variety  of  power,  she  gave 
the  lines  —  many  of  which  had  a  real  poetic 
quality  —  with  a  musical  accent  that  swept  over 
the  ears  of  the  audience  like  a  soft,  summer  wave. 
Her  face  was  lighted  with  a  glow;  her  slightest 
gesture  seemed  to  reveal  something  of  the  char 
acter  —  the  free,  fearless,  capable  woman  of  the 
great  West. 

As  the  play  went  on,  hardened  theatergoers 
looked  at  one  another  in  wonder  and  joy.  Here, 
beyond  the  shadow  of  doubt,  was  a  fresh  talent,  as 
Brainard  had  predicted. 

At  the  close  of  the  act,  after  the  furious  ap 
plause,  the  flowers,  and  the  curtain  calls  for  com 
pany,  actress,  and  author,  there  was  a  clamor 
behind  the  scenes  for  a  speech  from  the  founder. 
The  company  gathered  about  Brainard  and  in 
sisted  that  he  "must  say  something." 

"You  talked  to  'em  when  I  was  down,  do  you 
remember?"  Melody  remarked.  "I  think  you 
ought  to  say  a  word  now  that  I  am  up  !" 

So  for  the  second  and  last  time  Brainard  faced 
an  audience  in  the  People's  Theater,  and  the  ir 
repressible  young  actress  was  the  occasion  for 
both  his  speeches.  In  a  few  rapid  words  he  re- 


388  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

viewed  the  purposes  he  had  had  in  mind  in  open 
ing  the  theater,  two  years  before. 

"We  have  made  many  mistakes,  of  course. 
Perhaps  some  of  you  may  think  that  we  have  made 
more  mistakes  than  anything  else.  We  have 
learned  a  great  deal ;  and  first  of  all,  that  in  our 
country  there  is  no  'people'  -  -  no  one  public.  At 
least,  they  haven't  patronized  their  own  theater ! 
But  I  can't  think  that  we  have  altogether  failed, 
after  such  a  night  as  this. 

"One  of  our  desires  was  to  produce  truthful 
American  plays  of  American  life.  Her  Great 
Adventure  is  American  to  the  core,  and  you  seem 
to  think  it  good.  Another  object  was  to  discover 
and  educate  persons  of  unusual  dramatic  talent, 
to  create  artists  and  free  them  from  the  base  com 
promises  of  the  commercial  stage.  To-night  you 
have  witnessed  the  debut  of  such  a  talent.  Having 
given  the  world  Her  Great  Adventure  and  Miss  Mel 
ody  White,  who  shall  say  that  we  have  failed?  .  .  ." 

After  the  play,  the  company  gathered  in  the 
library  for  supper,  to  celebrate  their  triumph. 
It  was  Brainard's  custom  to  give  such  a  feast  at 
every  premiere,  but  to-night  there  was  among  the 
fifty  or  sixty  guests  an  unaccustomed  air  of  suc 
cess  and  intoxication  that  bubbled  into  speeches 
and  songs  and  kept  them  until  long  after  midnight. 
At  last,  after  dreary  failures,  contempt,  and 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  389 

neglect,  the  People's  had  achieved  a  real,  big, 
popular  success  !  The  critics  had  scattered  to 
tell  all  New  York  to  go  to  the  People's  Theater  in 
West  Twelfth  Street,  to  see  Her  Great  Adventure 
and  a  real  American  actress. 

"We  shan't  be  closing  right  off,  I  reckon,"  Miss 
White  whispered  across  the  table  to  Brainard. 

"Not  as  soon  as  I  expected  !"  he  replied  with  a 
smile. 

When  the  party  finally  broke  up,  he  looked  to 
see  the  successful  author  lead  away  his  triumphant 
star;  but,  to  his  surprise,  Farson  went  off  with 
some  young  men,  to  finish  his  triumph  with  them 
at  a  club.  Brainard  questioned  the  actress  with 
his  eyes. 

"Yes,  you've  got  to  take  me  home  in  your  car  ! 
Cissie  has  left.  Don't  you  see  that  I  have  waited 
until  all  the  women  are  gone,  and  now  you  are 
making  me  ask  you  for  a  ride  outright  ?" 

"I  merely  wished  to  efface  myself  before  the 
hero  of  the  occasion,"  he  replied  joyfully. 

"No  need  of  such  consideration.  He's  left  me 
to  cab  it  up  alone." 

"Have  you  already  had  the  usual  tiff  between 
two  collaborators  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  drawled,  as  the  car  started  with 
them.  "Not  at  all !  But  you  see,  he  wanted  to 
push  the  contract." 


390  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ned  asked  me  yesterday  to  marry  him.  It 
would  be  a  convenient  arrangement,  you  know; 
he  could  write  the  plays  and  I  make  'em 
famous  !" 

"Don't  put  it  that  way!"  Brainard  protested 
quickly.  "He's  the  best  of  fellows,  and  I  know 
that  he  cares  for  you." 

"It  won't  hurt  him,  I  reckon.  Clever  boy  — 
my,  how  big  his  head  will  be  after  to-night, 
though!" 

The  young  actress  yawned,  and  snuggled  under 
the  fur  robe. 

"How  about  yours  ?" 

"I'm  just  happy.  You  see,  I  was  right.  The 
play  is  going  to  be  a  great  money-maker." 

"It  certainly  looks  that  way  to-night.  That 
means  that  we  shall  be  able  to  keep  the  theater 
open  till  the  end  of  the  season,  and  close  with  the 
band  playing.  For  all  of  which  we  have  to  thank 

you!" 

"And  your  clever  secretary  !  Tell  me,  have 
you  heard  anything  more  about  the  case  ? " 

"The  lawyers  telephoned  me  late  this  after 
noon  that  the  judge  had  given  his  decree  —  in 
their  favor." 

Her  hand  stole  across  to  his  under  the  robe. 

"  Of   course,   we   appeal,"  Brainard   went   on ; 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  391 

"but  they've  got  a  strong  ease.  Fraud,  of 
course,  but  we  can't  prove  it." 

"Why  not?  Tell  me  more  about  the  case. 
I've  been  meaning  to  ask  you  all  along ;  but  this 
play  has  filled  every  corner  of  my  little  head. 
Now  I  can  think  of  something  else.  Come  on 
upstairs.  I  don't  feel  the  least  bit  sleepy,  and 
you  can  tell  me  all  about  your  case  —  why  they 
won  when  it's  a  fraud." 

"That's  simple  enough,"  Brainard  began,  when 
they  had  seated  themselves  in  the  actress's  tiny 
parlor.  "This  man  Krutzmacht,  it  seems,  had 
married  his  stenographer  out  there  in  San  Fran 
cisco.  At  least,  she's  got  a  perfectly  good  cer 
tificate." 

"But  how  could  he  have  really  married  her,  if 
he  was  already  married  ?  " 

"You  mean  if  he  was  already  married  to  the 
lost  Melody's  mother  ?  But  was  he  married  to 
her  mother  ?  We  can't  find  any  record  of  it. 
Nobody  knows,  unless  we  could  find  Melody 
herself,  and  I  have  given  up  all  hope  of  that. 
Krutzmacht  might  have  deceived  her,  too,  you 
know." 

"Why,  of  course  he  was  married  to  Melody's 
mother  —  and  wasn't  divorced,  either!" 

"What  do  you  know  of  it  ?" 

"Stupid!"  she  said  gently,  rising  and  putting 


392  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

her  hands  on  his  shoulders.  "Can't  you  see  that 
—  I  am  Melody  —  yes,  the  real  Melody  !" 

"Louisiana  - 

"Name  of  my  mother's  State.  I  made  up 
Delacourt  for  the  stage.  Louisiana  Delacourt 
was  to  be  my  stage  name  but  Cordelia  spoiled  it. " 

She  laughed  at  his  astonishment. 

"And  you  are  Melody  Krutzmacht?" 

"Lord,  no !  Melody  White.  Krutzmacht 
wasn't  any  father  of  mine,  thank  goodness  !" 

"And  your  mother?" 

"Was  Mrs.  Delia  White  —  legally  married  to 
Herbert  Krutzmacht  in  the  American  consulate 
at  Guatemala  City.  He  met  mama  down  there, 
and  married  her,  when  I  was  a  child,  and  adopted 
me,  too.  I've  got  everything  necessary  to  prove 
what  I  say.  So  you  just  telegraph  that  judge 
to  hold  his  horses  and  get  ready  to  write  another 
decree  !" 

"And  they  hadn't  been  divorced?"  Brainard 
pursued,  bewildered. 

"Not  that !  He  was  bad  enough,  gave  mother 
a  dreadful  life,  took  her  up  to  that  desolate  min 
ing  town  in  Arizona,  and  left  her  there.  Poor 
ma  !  But  he  sent  her  money  when  he  had  any  — 
even  that  last  time  when  he  was  in  New  York  — • 
and  always  called  her  his  wife.  I  have  letters 
to  show  it." 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  393 

"But  you  weren't  his  child  !"  Brainard  mused. 

"Only  by  adoption;  but  I  am  my  mother's 
only  living  relative,  and  she  died  after  him  !" 

"So,  as  the  old  man  seems  to  have  had  no  other 
living  heirs  to  make  claim,  it  is  all  your  money  !" 

Melody  shook  her  head  smilingly. 

"Not  quite  that !  A  good  part  of  it  must 
belong  to  my  able  trustee,  who  discovered  the 
sulfur  and  made  it  pay.  Dad  Krutzmacht 
couldn't  have  had  very  much  to  the  good  when 
he  died.  He  wasn't  a  nice  sort  of  man,  Dad 
Krutzmacht,"  she  added  thoughtfully. 

"Well,  he  left  you  a  nice  little  fortune  — 
something  that  should  run  into  the  millions. 
You  will  have  to  think  more  tenderly  of  the  old 
fellow." 

"Ugh!  How  I  hated  him  and  Monument! 
That's  why  I  dropped  his  name.  And  just  as 
soon  as  mother  was  gone,  I  fled." 

"In  the  night  —  rode  down  to  the  railroad. 
I  remember  it  all.  But  tell  me,  where  did  you 
go  then,  and  what  happened  to  you  ?  How  did 
you  escape  the  search  I  made  for  you  all  over  the 
world?" 

"That's  my  story  !  I'll  tell  it  to  you  some 
day  —  how  I  dishwashed  and  cooked  on  a  ranch 
for  a  living,  peddled  corsets,  and  worked  in  a  fac 
tory  —  it's  a  long  yarn.  Some  of  it  is  in  the 


394  HISLGREAT  ADVENTURE 

play;  I  told  Ned  the  amusing  things.  But  he 
has  fixed  it  up  a  whole  lot  —  I  don't  know  my 
self!" 

"It  must  have  been  hard  for  a  girl." 

"It  was,  but  I  am  not  sorry.  It  gave  you  a 
chance  to  work  the  mine,  for  one  thing." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Brainard  rose  to 
leave,  saying : 

"Well,  Miss  White—" 

"Just  plain  Melody,  please  !  I  like  the  name 
—  don't  you?" 

"It  means  a  good  deal  to  me,  as  I  told  you." 

The  girl  blushed,  remembering  what  Brainard 
had  said  about  his  unknown  mistress,  and  drawled  : 

"But  you  didn't  like  my  taking  it  a  little  bit." 

"No,"  Brainard  admitted.  "But  I  don't  mind 
now." 

"You  oughtn't  to,  really,  seeing  that  it  is  my 
own  name  by  baptism." 

They  both  laughed  at  this.  Melody  danced 
about  the  small  room,  woke  up  the  new  Boston 
bull,  and  made  him  dance  with  her.  She  was  once 
more  the  child  Brainard  had  first  known  at  the 
opening  of  the  theater. 

"You'll  have  to  squelch  that  woman  who's 
trying  to  take  poor  mama's  place,"  she  remarked, 
in  a  pause. 

"Of  course  I  shall  attend  to  that  at  once  — 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  395 

and  all  other  business  until  I  can  straighten  out 
your  property  and  hand  it  over  to  you  clear  of 
tangles." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  I  am 
going  to  take  your  old  mine  ? "  Melody  fairly 
shouted.  "It's  yours,  yours,  all  yours !  You 
won  the  first  stake  with  your  nerve,  and  you  made 
the  rest  of  it.  And  you'll  keep  it,  too,  my  friend 
—  at  least,  most  of  it.  Perhaps  some  day,  when 
I  get  the  fool-bug  in  my  head,  and  want  a  com 
pany  of  my  own,  I'll  come  around  and  call  on 
you  for  a  couple  of  hundred  thousand." 

Brainard  looked  at  the  girl  almost  severely. 

"All  the  property  is  yours,  of  course.  Krutz- 
macht  meant  it  so.  Your  name  was  the  last 
word  on  his  lips.  I  have  been  merely  your 
guardian.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
keep  it  now.  You  can  see  that  it  would  be  entirely 
different  from  what  it  has  been  while  you  were 
only  a  name  to  me." 

"I  see  what  you  are,"  she  replied  slowly. 
"The  honestest,  most  generous,  most  unselfish 
of  men  —  and  the  foolishest !  Come,  let's  stop 
this  swapping  of  compliments  like  a  couple  of 
children  —  *  You  take  it,  George  ! '  *  No,  you 
take  it,  Edith  !'  .  .  .  So  old  Pap  Krutz  wanted 
me  to  have  his  money  when  he  was  dying  !  I 
suppose  he  thought  to  make  it  square  for  what  he 


396  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

put  mother  and  me  through.  He  treated  us  like 
peons  /" 

Brainard  laughed. 

"You  may  think  differently  about  your  millions 
in  the  morning.  We'll  wait  till  then.  Good 
night,  and  double  congratulations,  Melody!"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  we'd  quite  forgotten  how  good  I  was  in 
the  play.  I'll  send  you  those  papers  about  mother 
to-morrow  morning,  and  you  see  that  the  scala 
wags  don't  make  good !  I  can't  be  bothered 
with  law  suits  and  things  until  after  the  season 
closes.  I'm  making  my  great  adventure  now, 
the  same  as  you  did  once  !  I  don't  want  to  be 
disturbed  until  I  have  carried  it  through." 

"I'll  see  that  you  are  not  disturbed.  Before  I 
go,  please  tell  me  why  you  didn't  let  me  know 
the  truth  when  you  found  that  picture  in  my 
room  ?" 

"I  had  my  idea,"  Melody  replied  vaguely, 
her  eyes  shining  into  his.  "I  shouldn't  have 
given  it  away  now  —  not  until  I  had  really  made 
good  —  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  woman  winning 
the  law  suit.  When  I  discovered  what  the  trouble 
was,  I  had  to  tell,  of  course." 

"I  almost  wish  you  hadn't!"  Brainard  ex 
claimed,  starting  for  the  door. 

"Why?" 


HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE  397 

"I  think  you  can  tell  why  !" 

And  he  was  gone,  leaving  Melody  with  a 
thoughtful  smile  on  her  pretty  face. 

"I  believe,"  she  remarked  after  a  time,  as  in 
rapid,  unstarlike  haste  she  divested  herself  of 
her  clothes,  "that  I  shall  find  a  way  of  compelling 
him  to  keep  the  money  —  somehow  or  other  ! " 


XVIII 

As  he  had  promised,  Brainard  attended  to 
the  business  affairs  of  Melody's  estate.  The 
lawyers  easily  obtained  a  stay  of  proceedings  and 
a  retrial.  With  the  proof  of  Krutzmacht's  real 
marriage  to  the  mother  of  the  young  actress,  the 
case  dropped  like  a  cracked  egg,  before  it  got 
to  court.  Hollinger  and  the  counsel,  who  had 
been  "staking"  Miss  Walters  in  her  attempt, 
foresaw  dangerous  consequences  and  withdrew 
precipitately  from  the  case.  After  the  smoke 
had  cleared  away,  Brainard  did  not  forget  the 
plea  that  Hollinger  had  made  in  behalf  of  Krutz 
macht's  former  stenographer.  He  resolved  to 
use  whatever  influence  he  might  have  with  the 
new  heiress  to  secure  for  Lorilla  Walters  a  mod 
est  crumb  from  the  rich  cake  she  had  fought  for 
that  would  make  her  independent  for  life  and  allow 
her  to  withdraw  permanently  from  the  stage.  The 
last  that  Brainard  heard  of  the  versatile  fight- 
trust  magnate  he  was  employed  in  the  capacity  of 
financial  adviser  to  a  Chinese  prince,  who  had 
conceived  the  idea  of  developing  a  railroad  in 
his  province  with  the  aid  of  Western  capital. 

398 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  399 

Hollinger,  whose  headquarters  were  generally  in 
London,  achieved  a  signal  success  in  this  kind 
of  financial  diplomacy  for  which  his  tempera 
ment  and  his  morals  both  fitted  him. 

After  the  suit  had  been  disposed  of,  Brainard 
amused  himself  by  preparing  an  elaborate  report 
of  his  trusteeship  of  the  estate,  in  which  every 
thing  was  accounted  for,  to  the  original  items 
he  had  spent  on  his  first  journey.  He  also  put 
his  own  affairs  in  order,  in  preparation  for  that 
day  at  the  close  of  the  theatrical  season  when 
the  young  actress  would  deign  to  give  her  attention 
to  business  matters.  She  was  too  busy  at  present. 

For  the  improbable  had  really  happened.  Her 
Great  Adventure  proved  to  be  the  one  undoubted 
theatrical  success  of  the  past  four  seasons.  That 
intelligent  first-night  audience  had  gone  home 
and  told  its  friends  that  they  must  not  miss  the 
new  play  at  the  queer  theater  in  West  Twelfth 
Street.  They,  in  turn,  had  promptly  told  their 
friends,  and  the  news  had  quickly  become  con 
tagious.  Instead  of  a  two  weeks'  run  the  house 
sold  out  until  the  end  of  June,  and  a  road  company 
was  already  being  prepared  to  satisfy  the  curiosity 
of  the  provinces.  Incredible  fact !  The  People's 
Theater  was  making  money,  even  with  its  low 
scale  of  prices. 

At  the  close  of  the  fourth  week,  when  the  new 


400  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

manager  came  to  see  Brainard  in  regard  to  the 
next  season,  Brainard  smiled  at  him  in  amuse 
ment. 

"I'm  out  of  the  theater  business,  Leaventritt. 
The  place  isn't  mine  any  longer." 

"I  saw  that  you  had  won  your  suit." 

"Yes,  but  the  theater  isn't  mine." 

"Sold  out?"  the  manager  asked,  a  disgusted 
look  on  his  eager  face. 

"Not  that,  but  I'm  out  of  it,  just  the  same. 
You'll  have  to  see  Miss  White  about  another 
season.  Perhaps  she  can  help  you  out." 

"And  just  when  the  blamed  sucker  had  fallen 
into  the  mint,  so  to  speak!"  the  manager  com 
plained  to  a  subordinate.  "So  it's  up  to  Miss 
Melody  White,  is  it  ?  Well,  that  lady's  no  sucker. 
I'll  have  to  show  her  good  cause !" 

The  next  day,  as  Brainard  was  superintending 
the  dismantling  of  his  rooms,  word  was  brought 
to  him  that  Miss  White  had  called  and  wished 
to  speak  to  him. 

"Sure  it  isn't  Mr.  Farson  that  Miss  White 
wishes  to  see?"  he  asked  the  servant,  thinking 
of  the  new  play  which  Farson  had  begun  for  the 
actress. 

"Sure  it  isn't!"  a  laughing  voice  answered 
from  the  hall,  and  Melody  pushed  her  head  through 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  401 

the  doorway.  "You're  pulling  out?"  she  asked 
in  surprise,  remarking  the  disheveled  condition 
of  the  pleasant  library.  "Where  to?" 

"Don't  know  yet  —  just  stripping  for  action," 
Brainard  replied  buoyantly.  "You  gather  a 
lot  of  moss  about  you  whenever  you  plant  your 
self."  He  pointed  to  the  books  and  pictures 
ranged  along  the  walls,  ready  for  the  packing- 
cases.  "And  one  sinks  into  the  moss,  too,  so 
that  it  becomes  hard  to  tear  up,"  he  said  less 
cheerfully. 

Melody  sat  down  on  a  lounge,  crossed  her 
knees,  and  slowly  pulled  off  her  long  gloves,  as 
if  she  had  come  to  stay. 

"My!"  Brainard  remarked,  looking  atten 
tively  at  her  clothes,  "how  dressy  the  lady  is 
getting  to  be  ! " 

"Marks  of  my  position,"  Melody  replied,  with 
elaborate  indifference.  "It  makes  Cissie's  eyes 
water  when  the  things  come  home.  It's  almost 
as  good  fun  as  telling  her  that  I  will  try  to  save 
her  a  small  part  in  the  new  play,  or  something  in 
one  of  the  road  companies." 

"Haven't  you  paid  Cissie  in  full  for  all  her 
airs  ?  Or  do  you  still  get  amusement  out  of  teas 
ing  the  poor  thing  ?" 

"One  has  to  do  something,  you  know,"  Melody 
sighed. 

to 


402  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

"The  ennui  of  success  has  come  so  soon!" 
Brainard  mocked.  "You'll  be  taking  to  'citis 
and  lap  dogs.  But  I  have  a  document  that  may 
distract  your  starship's  idle  moments  meanwhile, 
and  give  you  something  to  think  about." 

He  stepped  into  the  inner  room  and  returned 
with  a  typed  manuscript. 

"Another  play  ?"  Melody  inquired  in  a  languid 
tone.  "Have  you  taken  to  writing  plays,  too?" 

"Not  exactly,"  Brainard  replied,  running  over 
the  sheets. 

"Leaventritt  came  to  see  me  yesterday,"  Mel 
ody  remarked  carelessly. 

"I  sent  him." 

"So  he  said." 

"You  want  to  be  careful.  There's  a  mercenary 
streak  in  his  blood,  and  success  is  likely  to  bring 
it  out ;  but  he's  intelligent  and  honest  enough." 

"You're  still  set  on  making  an  idiot  of  yourself 
about  the  money  and  things  ?" 

"If  you  mean  that  I  am  still  determined  to 
render  unto  Melody  the  riches  that  are  Melody's 
by  rights,  why,  yes!" 

"Then  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"Any  one  of  a  number  of  things,"  Brainard 
replied  cheerfully.  While  Melody  negligently 
turned  over  the  pages  of  his  elaborate  report, 
he  continued  musingly:  "It  was  just  six  years 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  403 

ago  this  month  when  my  play  was  turned  down  — 
the  last  one  I  ever  wrote.  I  walked  back  up  the 
avenue  with  the  manuscript  in  my  pocket,  feeling 
that  the  bottom  of  the  world  had  dropped  out. 
I  was  a  forlorn,  broken  specimen.  It  was  a  day 
something  like  this,  too."  He  glanced  at  the 
lowering  April  sky.  "It  is  very  different  now. 
I'm  not  much  richer  than  I  was  then,  but  I  am 
a  totally  different  being.  In  fact,  I  think  now 
I  could  call  myself  a  man  !" 

"I  think  so,"  Melody  agreed,  in  a  rather  dole 
ful  voice. 

"And  a  man  can  always  face  the  world  with  a 
light  heart,  no  matter  how  light  his  pockets  happen 
to  be." 

Melody  nodded  sympathetically,  and  mur 
mured, —  "for  the  great  adventure!" 

"Yes  !     Life  is  the  great  adventure  !" 

After  a  long  silence,  Melody  looked  up  into 
Brainard's  face  and  stretched  out  her  hands  to 
him. 

"Won't  you  take  me  —  with  you  —  on  the  great 
adventure  ?  " 

Brainard  grasped  her  hands,  and,  leaning  for 
ward,  tried  to  read  the  full  purpose  in  the  gray 
eyes. 

"Melody!" 

"Must  I  ask  twice  ?"  she  said,  blushing.     "It's 


404  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

more  than  most  women  have  the  nerve  to  do  once. 
You  see,  after  you  left  that  night,  I  guessed  — 
and—" 

As  Brainard  took  her  in  his  arms  she  threw 
back  her  head,  and,  holding  him  away,  said : 

"And  you'll  have  to  take  the  Melody  mine 
along  with  Melody.  I  said  I'd  make  you  keep 
the  old  thing!" 


XIX 

what  shall  we  do  with  the  theater?" 
Brainard  asked,  in  a  lucid  interval,  early  in  June. 
"Shall  we  sell  it  to  Einstein  &  Flukeheimer  for 
vaudeville  ?  Or  shall  we  keep  it  for  a  certain 
American  actress  when  she  wearies  of  matri 
mony  ?  Or  shall  we  try  to  put  new  life  into  the 
great  Idea,  and  keep  on  giving  the  dear  Public 
what  bores  it,  because  it's  good  for  the  dear 
Public  to  be  bored?" 

"I  never  thought  much  of  your  great  Idea," 
Melody  confessed  candidly.  "The  trouble  with 
it  is  that  it  doesn't  do  any  good  to  give  people 
what  they  aren't  willing  to  work  for.  You've 
got  to  earn  your  bread,  so  to  speak,  in  order  to 
digest  it  properly.  The  Public's  got  to  want 
good  plays  and  good  acting  enough  to  pay  the 
proper  price  for  'em.  You  can't  get  people  in 
terested  in  an  art  they  don't  understand  and  don't 
want  enough  to  work  for.  Let  'em  give  them 
selves  the  best  they  can  understand  and  like  until 
they  kick  for  better  !" 

"That  even  I  have  begun  to  comprehend,  O 
Minerva  and  Melody  in  one !  Still,  there  are 

405 


406  HIS   GREAT  ADVENTURE 

exceptions  to  your  philosophical  principle  —  for 
example,  yourself,  goddess,  and  me,  who  digest 
with  an  excellent  appetite  our  heaven-sent  cake." 

"Didn't  you  earn  it  —  and  me?  As  few  men 
ever  earned  the  love  they  take  !  And  I  reckon 
I  earned  you,  too." 

There  followed  an  unlucid  interval. 

"But  what,  then,"  Brainard  resumed,  after 
the  interval,  "shall  we  do  with  one  large,  com 
modious  theater  building;  also  one  great  Idea 
with  a  hole  punched  in  it,  through  which  the  gas 
has  escaped  ?" 

"I've  been  thinking  of  that  problem,  too.  We 
might  turn  it  into  a  cooperative  company,  and 
let  the  players  own  it  and  run  it  to  suit  them 
selves." 

"Even  into  the  ground  ?" 

"Just  that !  But  there  are  some  good  heads 
in  the  company,  and  it  will  give  them  all  a  chance. 
Besides,  we  can  afford  it,  dear !" 

"Yes,  we  can  much  better  afford  to  give  it 
away  than  to  keep  it  running,"  Brainard  ad 
mitted.  "As  your  husband,  I  can't  countenance 
all  the  follies  I  put  on  you  as  mere  guardian  !" 

So  the  last  night  of  the  season,  a  warm  June 
night,  the  People's  players  got  together  at  the 
close  of  the  performance  in  the  pleasant  library  of 
the  theater,  and  Brainard  and  Melody  made  them 


HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE  407 

two  little  speeches.  First,  Brainard  explained 
to  the  players  the  plan  of  a  cooperative  stock 
company,  in  which  all  members  were  to  own  shares, 
with  a  board  of  directors,  of  which  Leaventritt 
was  to  be  chairman  and  Farson  secretary.  Then 
Melody  said : 

"You  heard  the  boss  on  the  new  plan.  You're 
in  great  luck,  let  me  tell  you  !  And  you  will  be 
awful  chumps  if  you  fight  among  yourselves,  or 
otherwise  don't  make  a  go  of  it."  Melody  looked 
severely  at  Cissie  Pyce,  who  was  seated  obscurely 
in  the  rear  of  the  room.  "Of  course,  you'll 
all  think  yourselves  Coquelins  and  Sarahs.  Well, 
you're  not.  Mind  what  the  manager  says. 
You've  got  the  prettiest,  nicest  theater  in  the 
city,  a  fair  company,  and  a  good  start  with  Mr. 
Farson's  new  play.  I  shan't  be  with  you  next 
season.  As  you've  doubtless  heard,  I've  taken 
a  new  manager  —  for  life  —  and  we're  going 
abroad  on  our  first  tour.  So  buck  up  !  Don't 
fight!  Good  luck!" 

And  thus  was  formed  the  independent  Company 
of  Actors,  with  one  Edgar  Brainard  as  honorary 
president,  and  Mrs.  Edgar  Brainard,  nee  Melody 
White,  as  honorary  vice  president.  All  the  com 
pany  came  to  the  wedding,  and  later  trooped  to 
the  dock  to  see  the  couple  depart  for  Europe. 

A  floral  offering  from  the  company  —  an  ele- 


408  HIS  GREAT  ADVENTURE 

gant  version  of  the  great  scene  in  Farson's  play, 
done  in  roses  and  carnations  —  filled  their  state 
room  to  the  exclusion  of  much  else.  It  was 
labeled,  "Their  Great  Adventure." 

"That's  right,"  Melody  said  when  they  went 
to  inspect  their  quarters.  "It's  life,  not  art !" 

"We've  made  a  fair  start,  don't  you  think?" 
Brainard  added. 

Melody  replied  by  raising  her  lips  for  the  ex 
pected  kiss. 


/rTAHE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of  Mac- 
millan  books  by  the  same  author,  and  new  fiction 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


ONE  WOMAN'S  LIFE 

Cloth,  J2tno,  $1.33  net;  postpaid,  $149 

"  Realism  astonishingly  exact.  One  follows  with  keen  appreciation 
the  natural  and  simple  exposition  of  this  woman's  one  desire  in  life  to 
'  make  good '  socially."  —  The  Outlook. 

"  Entertaining  and  well  worth  reading.  A  fabric  of  human  life  and 
character.  Robert  Herrick  is  the  literary  apostle  of  Chicago  and  the 
Midwest."  —  New  York  Herald. 

"The  best  and  boldest  thing  Robert  Herrick  has  done.  The  story 
of  the  heroine's  commercial  venture  carried  on  as  a  social  function,  is 
capital  fun."  —  New  York  Sun. 

"  A  novel  of  unusual  merit.  Remarkable  and  clear  and  just  psy 
chology.  Ranks  high  among  the  studies  of  modern  womankind." 

—  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

THE  HEALER 

Cloth,  gilt  top,  i2mo,  $i.JS  net 

"  Distinctly  unusual  —  and  distinctly  interesting." 

—  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Mr.  Herrick's  finest."  —  Omaha  Herald. 

"  Had  Ibsen  been  a  novelist,  and  had  he  chosen  Mr.  Herrick's  theme 
in  '  The  Healer,'  he  might  have  written  much  the  same  sort  of  a  novel." 

—  The  Dial. 

"  Of  extraordinary  vividness  —  a  book  of  power." — Chicago  Tribune. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


OTHER  NOVELS  BY  ROBERT  HERRICK 

Cloth,  gilt  top,  each,  $1.50  net 

TOGETHER 

"  Scarce  a  page  but  is  tense  and  strong."  —  Record-Herald. 
"A  masterpiece  of  keen  vision  and  vivid  depiction."  —  Mail. 
"An  absorbing  story  .  .  .  likely  to  make  a  sensation." 

—  New  York  Evening  Post. 

"A  book  of  the  first  magnitude,  that  handles  a  momentous  theme  boldly, 
wisely,  sympathetically,  and  with  insight."  —  The  Forum. 

A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"  A  serious  attempt  to  treat  a  big  living  question  in  a  new  way." 

— Record-Herald. 

THE  GOSPEL  OF  FREEDOM 

"A  novel  that  may  be  truly  called  the  greatest  study  of  social  life  that  has 
ever  been  contributed  to  American  fiction." —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

THE  WEB  OF  LIFE 

"  It  is  strong  in  that  it  faithfully  depicts  many  phases  of  American  life, 
and  uses  them  to  strengthen  a  web  of  fiction,  which  is  most  artistically 
wrought  out."  —  Buffalo  Express. 

THE  COMMON  LOT 

Is  a  strong,  virile  picture  of  modern  business  life,  with  all  its  temptations 
to  "graft "  and  its  fight  for  privilege. 

"  A  novel  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  overpraise."  —  Philadelphia  Ledger. 
"  It  is  by  long  odds  the  greatest  novel  of  the  autumn." 

—  The  New  York  American. 

JACK  O'  DREAMS,  or  THE  REAL  WORLD 

"  Unusually  satisfying.  .  .  .  The  hero  steadily  approaches  the  dividing 
line  between  safety  and  ruin  and  you  are  kept  in  agitated  suspense  until  the 
dramatic  climax.  A  number  of  powerful  scenes  add  color  and  forcefulness 
to  a  story  in  the  main  eminently  satisfactory." — Record-Herald,  Chicago. 

THE  MEMOIRS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  CITIZEN 

ILLUSTRATED 
"This  is  an  interesting  and  timely  book."  — New  York  Post. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Publishers  64-66  Fifth  Avenue  New  York 


New  Macmillan  Fiction 

MRS.   WATTS'S  NEW  NOVEL 

Van    Cleve 

BY  MARY    S.    WATTS 

Author  of"  Nathan  Burke,"  "  The  Legacy,"  etc. 

Cloth)  ismo.     Preparing 

Never  has  the  author  of  "  Nathan  Burke "  and 
"The  Legacy"  written  more  convincingly  or  appeal- 
ingly  than  in  this  story  of  modern  life.  Those  who 
have  enjoyed  the  intense  realism  of  Mrs.  Watts's 
earlier  work,  the  settings  of  which  have  largely  been 
of  the  past,  will  welcome  this  book  of  the  present  in 
which  she  demonstrates  that  her  skill  is  no  less  in 
handling  scenes  and  types  of  people  with  which  we 
are  familiar  than  in  the  so-called  "  historical "  novel. 
"  Van  Cleve  "  is  about  a  young  man  who,  while  still 
in  his  early  twenties,  is  obliged  to  support  a  family 
of  foolish,  good-hearted,  ill-balanced  women,  and  one 
shiftless,  pompous  old  man,  his  grandmother,  aunt, 
cousin,  and  uncle.  Van  Cleve  proves  himself  equal  to 
the  obligation  —  and  equal,  too,  to  many  other  severe 
tests  that  are  put  upon  him  by  his  friends.  Besides 
him  there  is  one  character  which  it  is  doubtful  whether 
the  reader  will  ever  forget  —  Bob.  His  life  not  only 
shapes  Van  Cleve's  to  a  large  extent,  but  that  of 
several  other  people,  notably  his  sister,  the  girl  whom 
Van  Cleve  loves  in  his  patient  way. 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

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New  Macmillan  Fiction 

The  Valley  of  the  Moon 

BY  JACK  LONDON 

With  Frontispiece  in  Colors  by  GEORGE  HARPER 

Decorated  doth,  ismo  ;  preparing 

A  love  story  in  Mr.  London's  most  powerful  style,  strikingly 
contrasted  against  a  background  of  present-day  economic  prob 
lems —  that  is  what  "The  Valley  of  the  Moon"  is.  The  hero, 
teamster,  prize-fighter,  adventurer,  man  of  affairs,  is  one  of  Mr. 
London's  unforgetable  big  men.  The  romance  which  develops  out 
of  his  meeting  with  a  charming  girl  and  which  does  not  end  with 
their  marriage  is  absorbingly  told.  The  action  of  the  plot  is 
most  rapid,  one  event  following  another  in  a  fashion  which  does 
not  allow  the  reader  to  lose  interest  even  temporarily.  "The 
Valley  of  the  Moon  "  is,  in  other  words,  an  old-fashioned  Lon 
don  novel,  with  all  of  the  entertainment  that  such  a  description 
implies. 

Robin  Hood's  Barn 

BY  ALICE  BROWN 

Author  of  "  Vanishing  Points,"  "  The  Secret  of  the  Clan,"  "  The  Country 
Road,"  etc. 

With  Illustrations  in  Colors  and  in  Black  and  White  by 
H.  M.  CARPENTER 

Decorated  cloth,  ismo  ;  preparing 

Miss  Brown's  previous  books  have  given  her  a  distinguished 
reputation  as  an  interpreter  of  New  England  life.  The  idealism, 
the  quaint  humor,  the  skill  in  character  drawing,  and  the  dra 
matic  force  which  have  always  marked  her  work  are  evident  in 
this  charming  story  of  a  dream  that  came  true.  The  illustra 
tions,  the  frontispiece  being  in  colors,  the  others  in  black  and 
white,  are  by  Mr.  Horace  Carpenter,  whose  sympathetic  crafts 
manship  is  widely  known  and  appreciated. 


THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

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New  Macmillan  Fiction 

Deering  at  Princeton 

BY  LATTA  GRISWOLD 

Author  of  "  Deering  of  Deal " 

With  Illustrations  by  E.  C.  CASWELL 

Decorated  cloth,  ismo  ;  preparing 

This  is  a  college  story  that  reads  as  a  college  story  should. 
Here  Mr.  Griswold  tells  of  Deering's  Princeton  years  from  his 
freshman  days  to  his  graduation.  A  hazing  adventure  of  far- 
reaching  importance,  a  football  game  or  two  in  which  Deering 
has  a  hand,  a  reform  in  the  eating  club  system,  the  fraternity 
regime  of  Princeton,  initiated  by  Deering  and  carried  through  at 
the  sacrifice  of  much  that  he  values,  a  touch  of  sentiment  center 
ing  around  a  pretty  girl  who  later  marries  Deering's  roommate, 
besides  many  lively  college  happenings  which  only  one  familiar 
with  the  life  could  have  chronicled,  go  to  the  making  of  an  in 
tensely  interesting  tale. 

Tide  Marks 

By  MARGARET  WESTRUP 

Decorated  cloth,  ismo  ;  preparing 

A  novel  of  unusual  interest  and  power  told  in  a  style  both  con 
vincing  and  distinctive.  Margaret  Westrup  promises  to  be  one 
of  the  literary  finds  of  the  season. 

The  Will  to  Live 

BY  M.   P.   WILLCOCKS 

Author  of  "  The  Wingless  Victory,"  etc. 

Cloth,  ismo;  preparing 

In  description,  in  vividness  of  character  depiction,  in  clever 
ness  of  dialogue,  and  in  skill  of  plot  construction,  Miss  Willcocks' 
previous  books  have  displayed  her  rare  ability.  "  The  Will  to 
Live  "  is  perhaps  her  most  mature  work ;  it  is  a  story  with  which 
one  is  sure  to  be  satisfied  when  the  last  page  is  turned. 


THE   MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

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THE    MACMILLAN  FICTION   LIBRARY 

Each  volume,  cloth,  ismo,  50  cents  net 


NEW  TITLES 

Mother.     By  KATHLEEN  NORRIS. 

Adventure.     By  JACK  LONDON. 

The  Loves  of  Pelleas  and  Etarre.  By  ZONA 
GALE. 

The  Heart  of  Rome.     By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 

The  Justice  of  the  King.  By  HAMILTON  DRUM- 
MONO. 

The  History  of  David  Grieve.  By  Mrs.  T.  HUM 
PHRY  WARD. 

Disenchanted.     By  PIERRE  LOTI. 

Four  Feathers.     By  A.  E.  W.  MASON. 

John  Ermine.     By  FREDERICK  REMINGTON. 

Fair  Margaret.     By  F.  MARION  CRAWFORD. 

Patience  Sparhawk.     By  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON. 

The  Long  Road.     By  JOHN  OXENHAM. 

The  Convert.     By  ELIZABETH  ROBINS. 

The  Common  Lot.     By  ROBERT  HERRICK. 

The  very  best  fiction,  attractive  and  durable  binding, 
and  clear  readable  pages,  all  these  are  represented  in  this 
new  library,  the  first  volumes  of  which,  published  last 
spring,  have  served  favorably  to  introduce  the  series. 
That  there  is  to  be  no  let  up  in  the  excellence  of  the 
reading  is  indicated  by  the  authors  now  announced  for 
inclusion.  

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i 


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AN  INITIAL  FINE  OF  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


OCT  6    1936 


RKC'D  LD 


,IAN2n'R5-GPI 


'••'• 


REC'D 


LD  2. 


268800 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


